


Sky Shadows

by Mizyuuki256



Series: Shadows [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: First in a possible series, I really should, I should be working on other things, Multi, Original work - Freeform, Posted for Reasons, Totally inspired by Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizyuuki256/pseuds/Mizyuuki256
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uriel McCarthy is NOT insane, contrary to what her entire school might think. Well, no more than the average teenager, so, when girls on her Campus For Casters, Larum Acadamy, get sniped left and right, she refuses to play Nancy Drew. After all, she's got enough problems between her siblings trying to convince everyone she should be in a mental hospital because of her dreams and school. But could her decision not to get involved come back to haunt her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rage

**Author's Note:**

> OK, this was an original story with future sequels in mind that I spent about three years working on. Three years of character planning, story line, setting, the works. I was GOING to publish it on the nook, but things got complicated. The two main characters are based off of my best friends. The girl who inspired Alisa even did the cover that I was GOING to use when I published the book.
> 
> The problem came when her sister got a hold of the story. She read the description I gave of Alisa, which has been changed for the very reason I'm never going to publish this for profit, and began ranting about how I was being racist because of how I described Alisa's skin color. I would like to point out that I am mixed between Scottish American, African American, and Asian American. I'm not racist, and I've lived through people being racist about all three of my different races to even think of it, so that really infuriated me, along with the fact that the sister never brought this problem up with me personally, she just kept talking about it behind my back.
> 
> When it finally DID get around to me, I was even more angry because she not only got her hands on a MANUSCRIPT that I specifically only gave certain people to avoid this, but snooping through her sister's phone. Also, I was royally pissed that the girl I based Alisa off of, who has been a good friend of mine for over seven years now, not only had every intention of keeping it from me, but had no intention of talking to her sister about insulting me both behind my back and to my face. I've got a long, hurtful history of people judging me because of the stories I come up with from a really early age, especially since I'm a mixed girl who's always had incredibly liberal views in a ridiculously conservative area of Texas.
> 
> Now, I have been friends with Alisa's real life counterpart for a long time. She was a very good friend of mine before all of this went down. Bryn's counterpart, however, is my sister. She has stood by me in times when no one else would. She is responsible for all of the friends I've made in the past decade and she is the reason I got the courage to write again. She is the one who pushed me to see this book to it's end.
> 
> Then my boyfriend, who I was trying to keep out of this because he's her good friend as well, insinuated that, based on the information he'd been given, Bryn's counterpart was lying to me. Now, after I read him the riot act, I decided that it was time to sever certain friendships. I still planned on publishing this, but I would change Alisa's character and make a cover myself, and I might still talk to her and other people civilly, but a line was crossed.
> 
> I haven't put anything original out in the open since elementary school, mostly because the reactions to my stories were either that I was a pathological liar and my mom needed to take me to a shrink, or that I needed help and should go on some kind of medication, Alisa's counterpart KNEW this, and yet, a few months ago, after I THOUGHT everything had settled down with them, Alisa's counterpart and her sister began making jokes about my story, about how I wrote it, and especially about my wording when I described her, which had never been a problem in all the times anyone else had looked at it, and that was the last straw.
> 
> I am not ashamed of my work. I put a damn large amount of effort into this story (3 whole years), and I am proud of it's contents, but I refuse to be the butt of their jokes. I spent years taking that, and I won't do it again. After that, I kind of lost faith in this series. I'm still going to write it because I love all the other characters and I love the story, but I feel like a part of it's been tainted and I can't put the same enthusiasm into it as I did when I loved ALL my characters. 
> 
> But I still want it out there. I still want people to read it, so I decided I would post it here. It'll be fun, right? I get to know what people think about my story, but I don't run the risk of bad reviews (there's a difference between bad reviews and flames) that I would get it I published on the NOOK.
> 
> So enjoy the first installment in the series that will possible never end: Shadows.

* * *

 

 

Dedicated to:

The every real-world Mr. West, for giving actual girls actual panic attacks for simply doing something you don’t like, one instance of which forced a girl to write one scene so she could cope with going to school again without an anxiety attack, leading to this entire, wonderful world being created.

I sincerely hope someone fires all of you one day.

 

* * *

 

 

_Do you feel like a man/ When you push her around?/ Do you feel better now/ As she falls to the ground?/ Well I’ll tell you my friend/ One day this world’s going to end/ As your lies crumble down/ A new life she has found._

-Face Down

Written by Ronnie Winter

Made Famous by Red Jump Suit Apparatus

 

* * *

 

It was far too hot to be outside.

                As in: “how are we not melting into piles of cooked meat and liquid bone?” hot.

                But, like when it was “how have we not become very pretty ice sculptures?” cold, Coach Sparrow glared at the tennis girls until they begrudgingly treaded onto the courts, heavy hearts weighing them down on their journey.

Their school looked relatively new to the outside eye -- its tan and beige paint chipping just barely from the harsh elements of the Texas countryside. Inside, though, the rooms were almost reminiscent of a military camp with their tinted and sometimes unopening windows and flickering, florescent lights. Outside of the main building, little care was taken with the buildings surrounding it, including the dorms that were scattered across the campus. 

The tennis courts themselves weren't in much better shape; while the rusted metal fence kept vandals from doing any permanent damage, it failed to keep the shrubbery at bay, allowing for some almost unnaturally long grass to line the southern side of the already cracked court.

                Three particular girls seemed more . . . exhausted than the rest.

                Bryn Rose, the tallest and— in retrospect— healthiest of the three walked closest to the street, guarding the other two from any random acts of horrible driving that may occur, despite the fact that no cars were out as per the usual orders of their possibly all-knowing principal. Her strawberry blonde – it was _not_ red, goddamn it – was sloppily braided into a pair of long pigtails which, even then, reached below her shoulders. Her pale, thin skin practically reflected the light that hit it, with the exception of her face, which had been artfully canvassed in makeup and sunscreen to avoid any major sunburns. Her eyes seemed to change regularly between green, blue, and grey, depending on how much of the light was shining through the mostly-thin clouds above them and, if one knew enough, who was looking. She wasn’t _too_ tall, not even close to six feet, but she hardly _small,_ instead looking like she could take anyone in a fight should they be foolish enough to attempt it.

                Alisa Winchester, the youngest-looking girl between the three, had been placed as far away from the street as the two could manage without ramming the poor girl onto the wall. She was tiny, almost miniature, when compared to the other two. She tied back her black and red, short hair tightly with a ponytail holder, forcing her small bangs to just barely scrape against the back of her neck, the tickle of the hairs not the least bit distracting since she couldn’t feel them through all the sweat she was pouring out. Her skin looked like a dark, even brown that seemed just a few shades lighter than pure, night-like black. Her brown eyes were much lighter, though, with almost flecks of black and green scattered through them. Though she hadn’t put on nearly as much make up as Bryn, she had still put on a shockingly bright shade if red that jumped out from her dark skin like a demented, Russian ballerina.

                Uriel McCarthy, the girl in the very middle of the two, seemed just about average. She had an average height, an average build, an average, if slightly pale, shade of skin, and an average face. She was slightly skinnier than most, not exactly a healthy skinny, but not a starved one, either, simply underused, but not overfed. If it weren’t for her inhumanly long, black hair, which, despite the fight it had put up, was bound into a tight ponytail, one wouldn’t have ever been able to pick her out of a crowd—that, and the dark, almost bruise-like circles under her clear, blue eyes and three tiny, black moles underneath the left one. It looked like she hadn’t slept in years, if ever. At least the other two had been able to use a margin of make-up to cover the more obvious shows of their exhaustion. Uriel, on the other hand, took one look in the mirror that morning, as they were getting ready, simply threw her hands into the air, and gave up on the whole idea, not even bothering to put Chap Stick on her already dry lips.

                “Oh, sister, dear!”

                Uriel stiffened and clenched her fists as the voice entered her ear and, to her _great_ displeasure, simply wouldn’t go out the other. She did _not_ have the time or patience for her ass-hat brother, Raphael, today.

                “Just answer him,” Alisa begged, almost pleading as she avoided looking at the teen. “Please. You know that he won’t go away until you do.” Her hands were gripping her tennis racket so tightly that the other two feared the fabric of the case might tear.

                “Fine—” Uriel answered before her own tennis racket was snatched from her hands. She turned, confused to see her brother waving it in front of her face like a wand. A heavy, wide wand that she tempted her to use to beat him half to death. Or _to_ death. Either one worked for her.

                “Now, Uriel,” he cooed, taking two lengthy steps back to avoid her sharp reaches to grab her racket back. “Is that any way to greet your big brother?” He smirked at her, easily dodging another attempt to reclaim the racket.

                He _knew_ he had the advantage. Raphael, obviously, waited inside until just before calling to her and, as a result felt perfectly cooled, not even remotly affected by the Texas heat. Uriel, however, felt like she’d run a marathon and was already sweating like she’d run two.

                As an irritating result, Uriel was in _no_ mood for games, including this one. “Give it here Raphael,” she ordered, holding her hand out expectantly and curling her fingers a bit to make the point that she was _not_ afraid to use her long, unclipped nails to possibly to take his eye out. “Along the time line of _now_.”

                She wasn’t sure why she bothered. To him, this was just a game, one the two played often. Raphael would take something he _knew_ Uriel needed and wave it in her face until he either got bored, or she pummeled him.

                Raphael simply laughed her off, dodging her now desperate attempts to take her racket back and end this quickly. Uriel ground her teeth in frustration. Neither she nor the weather were the proper temperature to deal with this.

Looking as an outsider, one would say the two looked almost _nothing_ alike. While Uriel may have been a bit on the skinnier side, Raphael was nothing but skin and bones. While Uriel’s black hair was long and completely natural (thank you very much), Raphael cut his long ago to look short and flashy, with streaks of reds and grays along with the greasy, black. His ears donnes several piercings up and down and he even had a small tattoo on the back of his neck, though Uriel had never seen all of it. And, while Uriel looked as if she’d never had a full nights’ sleep, Raphael looked _almost_ perfectly healthy.

                “Come on Sis,” he said, “I’m just having a bit of fun. It’s not like you, Meat Mountain, or ’Tard Talker have anywhere to be.”

                All three girls reacted simultaneously. Alisa flinched, as if Raphael had _physically_ struck her, Bryn placed herself between Alisa and Raphael while cracking her knuckles and neck loudly, trying her damnedest to cut off his line of sight, and Uriel bristled, kicking her leg out so her heavy tennis shoe hit the side of her brother’s knee with a force that caved it in.

                And now new players were added to the game.

                “Knock it off Raphael,” Uriel warned, watching her brother recover. “You’re walking the edge.”

                Despite the fire in her eyes, Raphael laughed, not even remotely taking her seriously. “Come on, what are you going to do, nut-case? Fry my brain with you heat vision? No, wait, that’s the Lantern guy, right?”

                Uriel swallowed her answer (which consisted of her taking out any pair of Superman or Green Lantern converse shoes and beating him with them until he both understood the difference, and could no longer have proper function of his _jaw_ ) and simply kicked at him again, this time missing by a hair.

                “Wow, Sis,” he smirked, “You’re losing your touch.”

                “Just buzz off, ya little shit,” Bryn ordered, visually irritated at this point. “Before I scaphize you.” Uriel and Alisa flinched, both at the threat (since they actually _knew_ what a scaphism was), and the unnecessary language.

                Raphael looked her up and down, his playful attitude now replaced with a haughty, higher-than-thou manner. “Watch it, Orphan Annie,” he warned. “Just because my sister and that little _nitwit_ let you leech off of them doesn’t mean the rest of us are that stupid.”

                And that was it. The game had gone too far.

                “Careful, _brother dear,_ ” Uriel warned, her voice low and dripping with faux honey as she stepped up close. _“_ I would just hate it if people called _you_ names like that. Especially if they didn’t have to _look at your face_ to do it.”

                Raphael stopped dead in his tracks. The game he started, like most, was no longer as fun as when it had begun. Tossing the racket to his sister with the same attitude one would throw a remote control from the dollar store, he walked off, probably convincing himself that, excluding his sister’s not-even-remotely-veiled-threat to him, he had won the battle, as such was his usual routine.

                Uriel watched his back, noticing that Coach Sparrow, who saw the entire thing, conveniently said nothing until he left, simply choosing to bark angrily at Uriel and the others to get back to the track.

“Its fine Alisa,” Bryn said, her arm around the shoulder of the youngest girl as she rubbed her hand up and down her arm. “Raphael’s just poking at sleeping bears to see if they’ll poke back.”

                “Bryn’s right, Ali,” Uriel said, coming up next to her and putting a comforting hand on her back. “I haven’t given my brother the time of day in all the fourteen years I’ve known the bastard. Don’t bother giving him any now.” Okay, minimal cursing was allowed when _her_ family was involved.

                Bryn smiled at her friend. “Isn’t calling your brother a bastard technically insulting your mother? Or your father?”

                Uriel smiled back, happy that her dim-witted brother hadn’t bothered her friend too much. “You speak as if I’m wrong.”

                “Ohhhhhhhh!” Alisa cried, covering her moth exaggeratedly. “Burn of the thirtieth degree!”

                Uriel shook her head, playing along. “And they’re not even here to see it.”

The entire incident with her brother, as per usual, was both ignored and forgotten by Coach Sparrow as if it never happened. Few teachers ever stood in the way of _any_ of her siblings—she was convinced they had the entire school under their far-too-expansive heels—and she wasn’t surprised the day she’d learned that Sparrow was one of them years ago, when she’d first come to school.

                “Rose! McCarthy! Winchester! Get your asses moving! I want a full game from _everyone_ , and if I see even a _hint_ of Casting, you’re _all_ running four extra laps tomorrow!” Sparrow pointed and glared at the three of them, as if trying to mentally will them into obeying her, which was hardly needed, since they already began running the customary five laps before she even spoke.

               

                Most of the other students at Larum –home to the Larum Lynxes – were _always_ complaining, especially about P.E. Even as they ran, Uriel and the others could hear their whining.

                “I mean, really,” one girl complained. “We’re _Casters_ we can do fucking _magic_. Why should we bother with stuff like math and history? They didn’t have to do this shit in  Harry Potter.”

                Both Uriel and Alisa flinched at the curse words – Bryn was a fifteen-year, decorated and seasoned veteran with a disturbing amount of accomplishments when it came to curses – but also shook their heads.

                “They _do_ realize that it’s thought processes like that that are the reason we _have_ to have all these classes,” Alisa asked. “Right? They’re not that bad.”

                A random girl who had walked up next to them grimaced and shook her head. “They _did_ just quote Harry Potter.”

                “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The three called out, almost stopping as they looked at the girl with faces ranging from confused to horrified.

“Let’s not go crazy here!” Alisa called.

“That was not a quote,” Uriel pointed out.

“Don’t go bringing J.K. into this,” Bryn ordered.

                The girl took one look at the three of them, and, as soon as the recognition fell across her face she, ran ahead as fast as she could, trying to get as far from the three as possible. The three sighed in a combination of relief and annoyance. Sure, the idea of spending the rest of the class educating the girl on the proper times in which to use Harry Potter in reference to Larum had been a pitiful blend of tempting and frustrating, but the fact that people would _literally_ run away from them was a bit annoying at times.

                You’d think being in a glorified Hogwarts, where a knowledge of the basic accepted truths about magic and a love for reading were, typically, meet with enthusiasm, would be a lot more easy on a couple of nerds.

                Of course not.

                Larum, the old-as-dirt school they went to, had been founded “millennium ago by the greatest Casters ever known” if their principal, Abernathy’s, speech every year was to be believed. In all honesty, it was just a _regular_ school with _regular_ classes on most days. The only differences were the increasingly odd graduation schedules. The school its self let kids from any age join, but no one ever knew they were going to graduate until their last year. Some kids graduated when they were fifteen, some when they were twenty. One guy even stayed until he was _forty_ , though none of the trio ever found any actual proof of the last one.

                Other than the _one_ class you spent on actual Casting (whether it was Tantra, Illusions, Necromancy or so forth) for your first four years, you went to all the other classes that other high scholars went to – Math, History, English, and the ilk.

                It had been like that forever, even before the current student’s parents had attended. Whenever anyone complained about the lack of Casting classes for the newer students– there were only so many one could take per year – Abernathy always had the same frustrating answer: If you have all that magic and no common sense to apply it, then that magic is useless.

                Despite having never met the woman personally – all three girls generally avoid any issues that would warrant a trip to the principal’s office – Uriel was pretty sure that that attitude made Abernathy a pretty cool principal.

                In theory.

                You didn’t get separated according to your age, Casting, or even species. Whether you were a Human, Vampire, Fae, or a Halfling (half Fae, half Human), you got put “where you’re meant to be” according to Abernathy

                Yeah, people who went to Larum accepted that their so-called “esteemed” principal _truly_ believed that she was their Mr. Miagi.

 

* * *

 

                “Are the Flaming Tennis Balls of Death really necessary?” Uriel panted, as she dodged an almost fatal serve from her partner, Abby.

                “Nope. I just enjoy making you dance.”

Uriel knew Abigail Lee well. They played together often as kids, before her night terrors made her more . . . isolated. Abigail came from a pretty well-off family. Not as rich as her own, but pretty good. Her mom was good people, too, if a little strict at times, but her strictness often kept Abigail grounded. She was a sweet girl who, to no one’s shock, loved her single mother to death. When they’d been friends, Abby was always the one too terrified to break the rules or be impolite to anyone, scared that she would let her mother down or, even worse, call her wrath down upon them all. Typically, she was easy to read. She was just far too nice to even be human. Still, all around, she was a good girl, even if only because she liked to keep making references to BioWare games when they were playing.

Abby was barely breaking a sweat that day, and Uriel suspected that was more because of the _heat_ than the fact that she was actually _trying_ to crush Uriel like a sad, pathetic sparrow’s egg. Her brown hair, which had frizzed due to all the humidity in the air, wasn’t even pulled up, and Uriel was sure it had gotten in the girl’s way, at least, five times in the last ten minutes. As Abby lifted her own shirt to wipe a _minimal_ amount of sweat off of her brow (again, Uriel was sure it was more the heat than anything else), Uriel could see the two shades Abby had darkened.

                “Well, I hope you’re satisfied with your fifty-seventh consecutive win against me,” Uriel answered, leaning over so she could take the bottom of her own tank and wipe at least a margin of the sweat off of her sweat-covered brow.

                “Has it actually been fifty-seven?” Bryn asked, lightly jogging up to the two with an exhausted Alisa dying at her side. Tennis was _not_ Alisa’s strong suit, probably because of her crippling asthma, but Bryn had an almost eternal stamina. In retrospect, Abby and Bryn should have been partners, if only for Uriel and Alisa’s safety.

                “How would I know?” Uriel answered blithely, “It’s not like—”

                Uriel’ was cut off as she heard a loud bang, almost like a car going off, and, before she could even recognize what was going on, she was running to the tall grass and vines that climbed their way up the fence just to her right. She saw Bryn and Alisa in front of her, and sincerely hoped that Abby had the good sense to follow them as they dove into the brush, using it as cover.

                She sat there for not even a _second_ before she saw it. A single body among the rushing forms, lying on the ground, blood splattered around her.


	2. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl's dead, and Uriel's got a decision to make,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention this in the last note, but almost all the character are based of of actual people, with the exclusion of Uriel and Daemon, who are a combination of a lot of my favorite traits from my favorite characters in books and what I wish certain characters had. Abby is based off of a much younger version of me, Bryn off of my good friend/sister, I've explained Alisa, and I'll Raphael is based off of the girl who used to bully me a lot in elementary and middle school. Don't know if I mentioned this before, but this story was kind of like therapy to me. It's me getting everything I want out in the open without offending anyone

* * *

 

_Tried to give you warning/ But everyone ignores me/Told you everything loud and clear/ But nobody’s listening/ Called to you so clearly/ But you don’t want to hear me/ Told you everything loud and clear/ But nobody’s listening_

-Nobody’s Listening

  
Written and Made Famous By Linkin Park

 

* * *

 

 

A thousand thoughts flew across Uriel’s mind as she squatted carefully in the grass, for once grateful that the school never paid for an _actual_ gardener to pay any attention whatsoever to the shrubbery around the court. Abby was pressed against her back heavily as she, Bryn and Alisa huddled around each other, each having a hand on one of the others, all of them trying to maneuver so that the others could be completely hidden by the long, thick grass, while still making as little movement as they could manage.

                Uriel could feel her legs shaking from the force of having to balance all of her and some of Abby. Despite the shade the grass had given, she was pushed against three other, equally-warm girls, all of whom were radiating fear, panic, and an ungodly amount of heat and odor. Not that the last one would have mattered, but still.

                Bryn, as always, seemed eerily clam, whispering orders to the other three as she noticed pieces of them even the slightest bit exposed. Uriel saw her look out to the court, probably looking for both the shooter and any other place to hide should their current hiding place be discovered.

                Alisa and Abby, though, were not handling any of it well. Abby was hunched over and, judging by how she was holding her stomach, saw the body, or at least part of it, and fought to avoid losing her breakfast. Alisa may have been worse, though, as her asthma had, obviously, kicked in and she was hyperventilating. Looking around, Uriel saw that her friend’s inhaler was with their suit jackets near the fence . . . in the middle of the completely unguarded courts.

                Outside of their sanctuary, they could hear the other girls screaming, and Sparrow bellowing at them to _get inside_. Another shot rang out, not hitting anyone as far as Uriel could see, but scaring them all into obeying the unspoken order.

The other girls ran in different directions around the outside of the court, as Uriel reached across Abby’s front and opened the rusting fence door slightly, just enough for them to stealthily slither through when the bulk of the crowd reached them.

                Everything else happened almost in snapshots that Uriel saw with an unnatural clarity, though she only had a vague memory of anything that happened before. Uriel and the others slipped into the hoard of girls, merging with the stampede.

A third shot rang out.

Everyone screamed, but, once again, no one was hurt. Apparently, whatever the sniper had wanted and demanded with the second shot hadn’t been met, and he was getting impatient.

A fourth shot followed, once again, not hitting anyone that Uriel could see, if it hit anyone at all. Eventually, every girl realized they had made it inside with a negligible amount of damage to anything beyond their psyche, most of them crying hysterically.

Bryn was still constantly eying the rooftops around them, as if she was hoping to get a glimpse of the sniper. Alisa, the poor thing, was shivering and hyperventilating even more now, and Abby was, at this point, crying, though not as heavily as the other girls.

Before Alisa could even motion for her extra inhaler, Uriel already ran over to her bag, which was, thankfully, by the wall, and handed it to her.

                “Y-Your . . . l-le-l-leg,” Alisa huffed, trying to form the words around her breaths. “You’re bleeding.”

                Uriel looked down and, sure enough, she _was_ bleeding, a disturbing amount. A short gash was bleeding almost heavily from her left calf, running from the top of her shin to half-way down the middle of her calf. One look at the blood, and both Abby and Alisa began panicking almost as much as the other girls. “Its fine,” Uriel assured them. “I just cut myself on the fence, or in the bushes. I’ll get it looked at when all this is over with.”

                Alisa smiled, and the gesture seemed broken and forced, but she accepted the lie.

                Bryn, however, looked at Uriel questioningly

                Uriel had seen a lot of wounds in her time – her father was a business man who tended to piss people off on purpose, and she was best friends with a _Vampire_ – so, even with all the blood covering her entire leg, she knew exactly what really happened to the poor, abused appendage, and she hadn’t simply scratched it.

                She’d been shot.

 

* * *

 

                Uriel, desperate to get some kind of aide for her leg— _really?_ She’d been _shot! —_ without alerting the others to her predicament, had volunteered to stay behind and be the last to get interviewed by the crappy cops. While the decision had be met with her friends (read: Bryn) scolding her like a bunch of mother hens, Uriel held firm. She needed to explain what had happened to her, but she wasn’t going to risk making any of them worry.

                The leading Detective, Jeffery Shancoe, looked useless, and, to Uriel’s utter disappointment, he _was._ His black mustache was covered in grease and glaze from all the food she’d seen him shove into his mouth with his stupid, fat, sausage fingers. His beady, black eyes had been disinterested and dismissive of everything she or anyone else had said.

                For the first time in her life, she was tempted to act like her mother, Elizabeth, and throw a temper tantrum.

                According to Officer Shancoe, who was not taking this _half_ as seriously as the _custodian,_ the first shot was, “probably”, the assassination, and the rest were just to throw the investigators off and to scare the other girls and any other student who could hear the shot, which had been everyone.

Uriel’s leg was written off as a misfire in his attempt to scare the girls enough so that he could get away.

                With no ceremony or consideration for her injury or claims, Uriel was written off as another “useless witness”.

                To. Her. _Face_.

                Most people would have screamed like a banshee and threatened to sue the whole precinct, Uriel heard them, but she could see it in the fat bastard’s eyes; he’d made up his mind about every fact on this case, and, if Uriel had learned anything, it was not to bother trying to change people’s minds.

                Limping down the long hallway, she felt a nudge to her left and sagged towards the large canine in sheer relief that it was just her wolf familiar, Alexander.

                Alexander was a typical familiar— larger than any normal animal, an almost human-like intelligence, and loyal to his master to a fault. Uriel’s father got him for her when she was ten, a sort of apology for getting her bodyguard, Alexander’s namesake, killed. It hadn’t exactly been a fair trade—the man had been more like family to her than any of her actual blood relatives—but she had sucked it up and bit her lip to avoid crying.

                Or setting the entire house on fire.

Preferably with her father in it.

                Alexander leaned against her, nudging his head into her hands, as if motioning her to lean on him more as she stumbled down the hall, using him as a living cane. Alexander, like most of the other familiars in the school couldn’t follow her around the school to keep her calm— giant wolves tended to be a “distraction for the students” in the classroom, but, whenever he could manage to be there for her, he was so comforting.

 

* * *

 

                Uriel was bushed and aggravated by the time she got to the end of the hall, leaning heavily against Alexander more due to a crippling exhaustion than pain that that point. She was _so_ close to simply lying on the floor and waiting for one of the custodians to sweep her to her room when she felt a pair of familiar talons on her shoulder.

                “Hello, Edgar,” she said, nuzzling the raven. “Where’s –”

                “Uriel!”

                She smiled. “There he is.”

                Running up another hallway was Edgar’s Caster, Daemon Collins. Daemon and Uriel became the best of friends years ago. Despite the fact that Daemon, as a Vampire, was hundreds of years older than her, he still stayed by her as long as she could remember, and she wasn’t surprised to see him rushing to make sure she made it out alright.

                “Michael told me what happened,” he explained, not even mentioning how Uriel’s eldest brother could have known. “He said, you were fine but – Why do I smell blood?!”

                Daemon’s entire form became taut. Even furious, he looked like the stereotypical idea of a Vampire – friggin‘ perfect, the rat bastard. His long black hair was slicked back and put into a pony tail with a black silk ribbon like some pre-revolutionary nobleman in a sappy, historical romance novel. His green eyes were crystal clear and almost mesmerizing, even if they were alight with rage. His skin, unlike legend, was actually fairly tan and warm as a result of long days supposedly working in fields before he became a Vampire. He was relatively buff, but Alisa’s favorite part of him ( _“What?”_ she would often say, _“I can’t objectify men?”_ ) was his cheekbones, which, if you asked any of the three girls, he must have stolen from Benedict Cumberbatch himself.

                Most people would have been more astounded by his beauty than anything else, but, after so many years, Uriel had become desensitized enough that she saw passed the beauty to the unbridled fury that would end badly if she didn’t do some kind of damage control.

                 “I’m fine,” Uriel sighed. “If you ask Bryn or the others, I cut my leg on some of the sharper grass or the fence when we were hiding.”

                Daemon raised his eyebrow. “And if I ask one of the nice police officers?”

                She smiled tightly, “I’m an unfortunate casualty of the sniper trying to cause enough panic and confusion to cover his escape.” She flinched as she staggered to the side. “All that trouble, just to kill one girl.”

                Daemon, temporarily foregoing his anger, walked right in front of Uriel and bent down expectantly. Once again, an act that would have shocked others had become so common to Uriel that she didn’t even question it as she climbed onto his back.

                “It was Tabitha Crowley,” he said eventually. “The girl who invited Gabriel to _that_ sleepover.”

                “Oh,” Uriel said, not sure what else to say. She’d never particularly liked or disliked Tabitha, despite her part in one of the _worst_ experiences of her childhood, though she was sure her sister had another opinion, and, in their world, death happened all the time. Not often as suddenly or as young as Tabitha’s, but it happened. With great power comes great consequence and all that jazz.

                Still, it was more than a little weird. The cops had been lax, almost dismissive, in looking for the shooter, as if they’d resigned themselves to just walk away, but Tabitha had been the spoiled rich kid among the spoiled rich kids. Her parents had acted as if she was the messiah and gave her anything she’d ever asked, paying a pretty heavy price should they ever forget that she was in charge. You would think that, with money and power like that, they’d have been crawling over one another in an attempt to get this taken care of, as quickly and quietly as possible.

                “Be careful how you answer that later,” Daemon warned hauling her out of her thoughts. “You’ll have to be a bit more convincing if you don’t want to be accused of being a psychopath.” He jokingly patted her on the back of her knee.

                “I’m already a slutty, schizophrenic, nutcase serial killer,” Uriel answered, her voice laced with bitter humor. “What’s wrong with adding another adjective to the horrible and grammatically incorrect list?” She smiled tautly, not giving an inch. She heard what was said about her ever since her siblings had realized they really were stuck at this school; she wasn’t one to even try to pretend otherwise.

                Daemon didn’t stop at her blatant self-shaming, but he did whack her relatively hard on her right shin careful not to hit her injured leg. “Don’t do that. How many times do I have to tell you not to listen to them?”

                “I know,” Uriel said, laying her head on Daemon’s back and tightening her hold around his shoulders as he headed up the stairs. “I know.”

                And she did. Daemon _always_ took care of her, even from herself. If anyone was more bothered by what other people thought of her “condition” than her, it was him, and Daemon didn’t handle the teasing half as well as Uriel did.

                She wondered if he ever would, the poor man.

                Daemon was quiet after that, only asking her a couple of questions about how her classes were going and how Alisa and the others were doing. Uriel was genuinely surprised that he said as much as he did, since he wasn’t one to really worry about anyone other than her. Sure, Alisa and Bryn were his favorites, but that was more because of their importance to her than his actual opinion of them as people.

                When he actually showed concern over Alisa’s attack, Uriel began to worry that he wasn’t feeling well. “You never worry over Ali’s asthma,” she pointed out.

                “What am I?” he asked. “Heartless?” Uriel fought to refrain from any ‘living dead’ jokes.

                Eventually, after a ton of light jibes and fun laughs, all of which, Uriel knew, were meant to take her mind off of what she’d seen earlier that morning, Daemon finally made it to her dorm room, where Bryn was waiting just outside the door arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently on the floor as she had obviously been doing for some time. When she finally realized the two were even there, she looked at both of the carefully. “Thanks Daemon,” she said. “I’ll take it from here.” Uriel could see the disapproving frown and wondered just what was going on with everyone that day.

                With a wordless nod though, Daemon slid Uriel off his back, careful of her sore (read: still bleeding and angry) leg, and gave her a small peck on the forehead before pulling her into a quick “good bye” hug. After waiting impatiently to receive his customary good-bye nuzzle, Edgar begrudgingly left his perch on Uriel’s far more comfortable shoulder to reclaim his original on Daemon’s as the still-seething vampire walked away. Uriel could see in his tense shoulders, though, he was not the least bit happy with how the night had gone and, despite her claims otherwise, was not going to let the wound on her leg go any time soon.

                Bryn, who wasn’t one to wait until the vampire with the super-hearing of a Government Issue freighter jet was out of _sight_ before gossiping, wasted no time in practically demanding. “What was that about?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how do you guys like Alexander? Yes, there is more to him than meets the eye, it'll all come out in a later book, I promise, but it'll take a while. Also what do you think about Daemon? I personally love him, but, then again, I created him. Daemon's kind of based on a lot of characters that I've loved in literature. Think The Count of Monte Cristo meets Jareth and they have a three way baby with Nick Fury. I love it.


	3. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit, the one thing I hate about this particular book: I don't really get to go into Uriel's nightmares. This IS a major part of the series, I promise, but this book is really like a prologue to the series. It's me introducing everyone and getting a feel for the environment, so I don't really touch on A LOT of the awesome stuff this particular world has to offer. I will, though. Oh, I will.

* * *

_(Wake me up)/ Wake me up inside/ (I can’t wake up)/ Wake me up inside/ (Save me)/ Call my name and save me from the dark/ (Wake me up)/ Bid my blood to run/ (I can’t wake up)/ Before I come undone/ (Save me)/ Save me from the nothing I’ve become/ Bring me to life_

-Bring Me to Life

Written By Amy Lee, Ben Moody, and David Hodges

Made Famous by Evanescence

 

* * *

**  
**

 

 

                “I said ‘no,’” Uriel argued, crossing her arms angrily. “It’s a bad idea. The man hasn’t started anything with any of us, let’s not get involved unnecessarily.”

                “And I say we should get involved,” Bryn bickered. “You and Alisa are descendants of Founders, which puts a damn big target on your backs.” She looked at both of them, clad in their basic pajamas of fan-based shirts (Captain America for Bryn, Black Blood Brothers for Uriel, and Black Butler for Alisa) and random, mis-matched shorts. “I don’t want to just ignore him until it’s too late.”

                They’d been going back and forth like this for hours, each having a more valid point than the other. Bryn was convinced that the best option was getting involved with the sniper investigation and either killing him or getting him caught. Uriel knew that she should be worried about the utter calm with which Bryn spoke, but, considering her family and some of her own thoughts on them, she had very little high ground to stand on. The risk of one of them being targeted, she claimed, was greater than the reward of sitting on their asses and waiting for the cops to do their job, which all three of them could tell they wouldn’t do.

                Uriel didn’t agree.

                Uriel was no stranger to assassinations – it was how she lost Alexander – but there was no way around it. Snipers as good as the guy that morning had some extensive training, they weren’t going to get caught by three teenagers, no matter how strong the trio thought they were, and, even if they _did_ catch him, what then? Kill him? Then they would have to waste the time and resources it would take to bury and hide the bastard, since there would be no way any story they could come up with was going to hold up as self-defense in court. Take him to the police? Right, because that would go over _so_ well with someone like Officer Shancoe.

 This wasn’t some teen mystery novel, they were not The Mystery Inc Gang, and Uriel highly doubted that the sniper’s capture would end as happily or easily as either scenario. Messing with this guy was going to _get_ them killed, not _stop_ them from getting killed.

                “Maybe we should just . . . take precautions,” Alisa, the calmest but most terrified of the three suggested. “Just make sure we all have defensive Casts at the ready and keep on our toes?”

                Uriel and Bryn looked at each other, silently asking if the other thought this was acceptable. Not taking an active offensive, but still being prepared. It _did_ match. Bryn’s concern that they were in danger would be appeased, and Uriel’s fear that they would get in way over their heads would be averted.

                “. . . Deal.”

 

* * *

**  
**

 

                Uriel wasn’t surprised when, the next day, Abernathy announced that classes were canceled. She was even less surprised to see that so few people were _actually_ shaken by the death of the girl. Theirs was a “dog eat dog” world, and one tended to only look out for one’s self. Heck, one tended to not even look out for one’s _family_ mostly because this theoretical one did not have time to be worrying about that. There was other stuff to do in life.

                Still, she _did_ see one or two people dressed in black, and she wasn’t sure whether to be _comforted_ by the fact that some people in her school were normal, or flinch at the fact that they had lost someone they cared about. This whole situation reeked of a typical lose-lose verdict, and the idea of it made her skin crawl. It was almost like, for some people, nothing had even happened. As someone who’d been kidnapped seventeen times in her fourteen-year-long life, she was no stranger to violence or even dead bodies (though they were usually a lot less bloodied than Tabitha’s once Daemon was done with them). That explained why _she_ was alright, but what about the others? She’d seen girls that day who she _knew_ saw that body, but it was like nothing had happened to them at all.

                She settled on just nodding at the politely and moving on.

                “Uriel!”

                The girl in question prickled at the high voice calling for her. “Yes, Gabriel?” she groaned.

                Running towards Uriel with a look of faux concern on her face was her sister, Gabriel. It was no secret among select sections of the school that neither sister liked the other, though theories on _why_ had run rampant over the years. Still, Gabriel at least attempted to keep up appearances as the “concerned older sister”, for publicity’s sake if for nothing else.

                Perhaps it was just because they were so different. Gabriel was the typical “popular girl” at school. She had the posse – who’s members changed depending on their own popularity rating at the time—that fallowed her constantly, the brand new clothes that were always in style – anything that wasn’t was simply thrown away—that she never wore more than twice, and her gorgeous good looks.

                Looking at the two, you’d _never_ realize they were related. Gabriel was a skinny blond girl who, obviously, knew her way around a make-up bag. She had a perfectly tanned body—though Uriel had no idea how, since she’d never seen Gabriel do any kind of exercises outside—with no visible lines. Her eyes were a pale green, almost like someone had just let a drop of green paint mix in with the pale of white paint. The elder of the two was even more different from Uriel than Raphael. At least he was pale as death.

                “O. M. G!” Gabriel cried, throwing her arms around her sister’s neck and, subtly, squeezing the air out of her. “I heard you got hurt yesterday, you must have been _so_ scared!” As she squeezed tighter, Gabriel whispered, incredibly quietly, in her sister’s ear. “Fake it or I’ll break it.”

                Uriel was used to this, the act, and simply smiled tightly and patted her sister on the back as she tried to breathe. Eventually, both of the girls separated and made their way down the hall to “talk in private”, both desperate to get away from one another.

                Once they were out of sight, Gabriel pushed Uriel away like a plague, the only thing keeping her from falling over being the chair she gripped in reaction. “Thanks so much for the concern,” Uriel bit sarcastically as Alexander growled and nipped at Gabriel and her peacock familiar, Katy. “It’s so nice to know my loving older sister actually cares now and then.”

                “Oh shut _up,_ Freak,” Gabriel complained, looking down. “You have it _so_ bad.” Her voice rose in pitch and became more like a whine. “‘I’m _so_ scared. I’m just a big baby who can’t even sleep with the light off!”’

                Uriel flinched, backing away as if she’d been slapped. “Knock it off, Gabriel.” She growled, more than irritated by her sister’s antics.

                Uriel might as well have not even spoken. “‘I’m a nut case. I’ve got a _condition._ I don’t care how much trouble it causes my family—”’

                “ _Shut up Gabriel_ ,” a voice, strong and firm, commanded.

                Both sisters looked to see the eldest of the McCarthy siblings standing in the doorway of the classroom the two had hidden in, arms crossed in an angry pose as he glared, frustrated, at his twin his jaw clenched tightly.

                You could tell that _he_ was related to Gabriel. _He_ looked exactly like her—same eyes, hair, nose, cheekbones. _Fraternal_ twins Uriel’s ass.

                Michael was _much_ more like Uriel’s other two siblings than she was. A jock to his deepest core and the most popular guy on the campus, he, unlike his other siblings, made his friends without trying, threatening or bribing and, since he was the captain of the track team, he got a _hell_ of a lot of respect from even the snotty teachers at the school. He was the embodiment of goody-two-shoes.

                At least, according to the school gossips, who never lived with the bastard.

                “Get out, Gabriel,” Michael ordered, walking inside the room as he grabbed his twin’s arm. “We’ll talk about this later.”

                Gabriel physically paled at the idea of dealing with an incredibly pissed off Michael, and quietly did as she was told, too frightened to even think of starting anything more with her youngest sister. With a small, pitifully pouty look at the two, she left to room, her brightly colored familiar following behind her, haughtily holding his head high as if he had been the star of the entire show.

                Both siblings stood in silence, Uriel more focused on the sore pain in her leg than her brother’s worried glances at her.

                “Daemon said you got hurt yesterday,” Michael said eventually, his voice quiet and filled with what she was _sure_ was an attempt at sounding sincere. “How bad is it?”

                “Not bad,” she answered shortly, wanting to add ‘not that you care’, but not having the balls. Of all her three siblings, Uriel disliked Michael the most. Sure, she didn’t always (in other words _never_ ) like Raphael or Gabriel, even after the ‘incident’, but she never hated them.

                Uriel still wasn’t sure if she hated Michael.

                “You should go to the nurse,” he warned, concern and anxiety lining his face. Uriel wasn’t sure if it was fake or not, but she wasn’t taking the chance.

                “I’m fine,” she mumbled, pushing past him to Alexander, who had been quietly growling at Michael’s hawk familiar, Garret, the entire time. “Just leave me alone.”

                Uriel wasn’t sure whether she’d meant it or not, but, either way, Michael obeyed.

 

* * *

**  
**

 

                The rest of the week was hectic. Uriel’s three days away from class had given her time to finish the five—yes, five—projects and essays she’d been given, half of which had been due that week. Thank God for portable printers.

                She didn’t talk much to Alisa or Bryn during the time—both had their own projects to make them consider suicide—but the three had enjoyed their quiet time around one another, breaking the silence only once or twice in an attempt to help one another over their wording or, in Alisa’s case, posing.

                There were, however, continued breaks whenever certain shows (Supernatural, Castle, Downton Abby and the like) came on, and all three would cease any typing or similarly distracting noise, either to watch the show, or to avoid the wrath of the watcher(s).

                While Uriel had spent most of her time on her English essays, comparing The Count of Monte Cristo to a three act play and proving that the house in A Rose For Emily was a symbol for Emily’s slowly degenerating mind, Bryn had focused on her history project—a presentation on the Berlin Wall and the effect it had on society as a whole, and Alisa had almost obsessed over her art project, a non-fanart portrait that would hang in the lobby.

                Sadly, Uriel had only just finished Count of Monte Cristo a few days ago (in her defense, it was a _six hundred and eighteen_ page book with teeny tiny font that the teacher had given her two weeks ago) and her second essay, she’d heard from past classmates, followed a specific rubric _none_ of the students before their grade nor any of the students _in_ it had gotten, Bryn had recently been told that she was going to have to do a _verbal_ presentation and answer any questions posed by the other students (which wouldn’t be so bad if she weren’t in a class of morons and had social anxiety) in a week, and Alisa had never done anything other than fanart, as she simply found it easier to base things off of what she had seen, but felt bad using human models.

                That, in essence, was their usual weekend.

                None of the girls had bothered leaving the room for too long, deciding to forgo the outside world completely in exchange for the wonderful comfort of their own room. It certainly felt like a nice enough room; since each resident wound up staying there for an unspecified amount of time, no limits to the design of their room had ever been set. As long as they changed everything back to the way it was when they came, no one really cared what they did to it. As a result, the three had been given free reign.

                The walls were painted by Alisa, depicting the images of the past three Doctors from Doctor Who, Sherlock and Watson from the BBC series, Team Free Will from Supernatural, Tom Hiddleston as Loki, Robert Downy Jr. as Tony Stark, Scarlett Johanson as Natasha Romanov, different versions of Hawke and Shepherd (from Dragon Age and Mass Effect respectively) and Bruce Banner from the Avengers movie (Uriel never really could remember his name, but who cared? She still thought he was one of the most awesome actors ever), Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Spiderman, Thor, Loki, Green Lantern and other DC and Marvel characters, and a pantheon of other obscure characters and references that only fans could pick out. The quilts that covered the beds, sewn by Uriel, had hundreds of different “logos” of the characters on the walls, like Captain America shields, the Batman logo, the Pirates of the Caribbean symbol, and several pictures that were actually the app images for games that the three would play on Uriel’s computer together, and there were tons of posters, placed and provided by Bryn, lining the walls.

                It was a fan girl’s paradise, and all three of them loathed the day they’d be forced to leave. No one was more miserable than Uriel, though, as her constant nightly terrors began to last longer and longer as the days passed and she couldn’t manage to stay awake. The day before classes again, she laid her head on the pillow, Alexander whimpering in anxiety next to her as she lost the fight to stay awake.

 

* * *

**  
**

 

                It was so dark. So very, very dark. Where was Daemon? Where was Alexander? They knew she hated the dark; they _knew_ how much the darkness petrified her. Why weren’t they there?! She felt hands all over her scratching and clawing angrily— pulling her in so many different directions, she wasn’t sure how she was whole anymore. Was she whole? She couldn’t be sure. Everything was so wrong.

                “Help,” she cried desperately, fighting against the pressure on her chest and clawing at what felt like water around her as the words came out in sad bubbles. “Somebody please help me!” She struggled against the hands, exuding all her energy into getting away from one hand— to escape one particular grip, only to succumb to so many more. They were so strong when they were gripping her, and they seemed even stronger when they were scratching her, keeping her still. The water rushed over her head, turning her to and fro, back and forth, but this wasn’t water. She _liked_ water. No, this was something else, something dark and angry and evil, like pure shadows covering her soul.

                She didn’t like it.

She didn’t want to die, not like this.

She twisted and turned, eyes opening futilely in a sad attempt to see through the inky blackness surrounding her. She fought to reach the surface, but the water constantly turned her around, making it almost impossible to tell where the surface _was_ , if there was one at all.

                She felt something shaking her, pushing her almost angrily against the water. They were saying something, but she couldn’t tell what. God, she was so scared. Where were Daemon and Alexander dammit?

                “Uriel,” a voice called. “Uriel!”

 

* * *

**  
**

 

                When Uriel finally opened her eyes, she was relieved to see there was light all around her, illuminating the comforting faces of Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins, who had been painted on the ceiling, along with Bryn and Alisa, who had, obviously, broken the unspoken “Do NOT Touch Uriel When She’s Asleep” rule, as both had their hands on her arms. Alexander, the poor thing, was sitting next to her bed, his head still next to her pillow, as he whimpered tenderly.   _Just a nightmare,_ she thought, curling into herself. _Just a really bad nightmare_

                The nightmares came _every night_. Some worse than the others. The closer they came to having to go back to classes, the worse they became, and Bryn had once mentioned that it was probably the stress that did it. It had been years since Uriel had slept through the night, so many that she didn’t even remember what it felt like to be well-rested.

                Bryn and Alisa had, thankfully become used to her crying out in her sleep, so much so that she began to feel guilty. Horribly guilty that she’d driven them to buying headphones and iPods, simply to block out the sound and masks to block out the light. She was glad their familiars, a horse named Beauty for Bryn and a mouse named Brisby for Alisa, didn’t have to stay with them in the room. She’d tried sending Alexander to the small building designated for the larger of the familiars to be more comfortable, but, after the first nightmare without him, she found out he’d hurt himself trying to make it back to her and never sent him away again.

                Every night, for years, Uriel had woken up, clawing at herself so angrily that, every now and then, she’d actually break the skin, crying about “shadows” and “the darkness”. That day, though, was ugly. So ugly.

                “You were thrashing really bad this time,” Bryn explained, helping her shivering friend sit up properly. “There was some damage.”

                Uriel could see it, too, the place where her bedpost had hit the wall next to her and dented poor David Tennant’s shin. She also saw the overturned lamp, scattered books, and crushed papers, all littering the floor. It was no wonder they’d woken her up, she’d practically killed the room.

                This was getting bad. Not ridiculous or out of hand, it reached those levels years ago, but never had it been this bad. Something would have to be done.

                Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really wanna hear guesses on what you guys think is causing Uriel's nightmares. I already have that entire plot line ready in the wings, but I wanna know if any of you can get close to the truth. A hint: Bryn's inspiration, who doubles as my editor, said I should write Spanish Soap Operas after she found out.


	4. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this chapter and the next are going to seem really random, but there's a point, I swear. Remember how I explained that this book is sort of like therapy for me? Well, this chapter and the next were actually the first two sections I ever wrote out. They're the reason this entire story is the way it is.

_Flames to dust/Lovers to friends/Why do all good things come to an end/Flames to dust/Lovers to friends/ Why do all good things come to an end?_

-All Good Things (Come to an End)

Written and Made Famous By Nelly Fortunado, Timbaland, Dania, and Chris Martin

 

* * *

 

                The first day back was slow and lazy. Despite what Uriel had assumed to be common sense, it seemed only a select few had spent any of their free time over the “break” actually working on their projects. Almost everyone, when confronted with the reality of the situation, broke down and claimed they’d been too distraught to think of something as trivial as their _projects._

                Uriel almost laughed when one teacher had pointed out that, if the project was so trivial, they wouldn’t care what grade they got.

                Yep, her history teacher was awesome.

                It stayed in this lazy state for weeks, everyone finally lulling into a sense of “normalcy” for Larum as time moved on. Like every school they simply rolled with the punches. Sadly, though they took Tabitha’s death and, in their minds, warped it into a need to live life to its fullest.

                To most, it called for their definition of YOLO, which, to Uriel, warranted only a YODON.

                You Only Die Once Nitwit.

                Unless you were the Doctor.

                Or a Winchester.

                Or Batman.

Then you never die, you only take a nap.

                Either way, the growth of Random Acts of Stupidity only grew harshly, the folly becoming _almost_ contagious as it spread through the school, leading the teachers and vice principals placing more and more restrictions that no one paid any attention to.

                Of the few people who were not participating, Abby, not shockingly, was one of them, despite the fact that she had been the one closest to Tabitha when she was killed. Everyone else had congratulated her on being so strong, but Uriel had just patted her on the shoulder in understanding. It wasn’t that Abby was a particularly strong girl—she really wasn’t—just that, when given time, she was one of the best compartmentalizers Uriel had ever seen. When the nightmares had started, Abby had been the one to teach Uriel how to compartmentalize— to push things to the farthest place in her mind and ignore their existence until _absolutely_ necessary.

                It wasn’t the healthiest of ideas, but it worked.

                There was no mention of the fact that the police had found no one responsible. Looking at the police reports—which, of course, Bryn and Daemon hadn’t done because that would have been “ _illegal”_ and “ _wrong”—_ it almost seemed like they weren’t even bothering to look for him at all, despite what Uriel knew had to be some heavy threats from Tabitha’s mother and some very _valid_ ones from her father. Uriel wasn’t sure if this was because Shancoe was covering something up or if he was just that incompetent, and she wasn’t sure which one scared her more.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks after classes had resumed, on her way to math, Alexander, who had taken to accompanying her to and from each class like almost every other familiar in Larum, stopped mid step, crouched in front of her and growled warningly towards the rooftop across from them and through the doors. Uriel had no clue what he was so angry about until she saw a tiny bump in the shadow of the roof to the history building, right across from the math hall.

She wasn’t even able to form a tangible warning before the shot went off, the sound more diluted than the last time because of the distance, but frightening none the less. This time, though, she was ready.

The second the shot registered, her brain was on survival mode, forming a wide wall made of the tile and stone that made up the floor beneath her and curved it around both her and about three other students that stood nearby. Four more students and their familiars dove behind it as she saw several other students fallow her lead with defenses of different kinds throughout the hallway, even teachers creating their own and offering the sanctuary to other students who either hadn’t learned their own defensive Casts yet, or simply became too panicked to remember how to Cast them.

Uriel saw Abby wrap black smog around her and a group of cheerleaders who she saw cowering in the corner. She smiled, despite the situation. She knew, for a fact, that those very girls had been bullying Abby for _years_ , and Uriel certainly wouldn’t have bothered.

Heck, she might have kicked them out of cover just to see what they would do.

“What the hell is going on?” One boy asked. Uriel didn’t recognize him and didn’t bother answering as she heard two more shots, both spread apart by a good amount of time, before she could barely hear anything over the screaming and crying.

“Who’s hurt,” her old math teacher, Black, cried out in his “Coach Black” voice. “Who got hit?”

No one answered, everyone waiting for someone to answer.

Eventually, Black bellowed out. “Anybody see anyone hurt? Anyone bleeding?”

He was wasting his time, though. No one had been hit. The sniper, whoever he was, hadn’t been shooting at their building. That left two other options—the English Building, where Uriel and Bryn had just come from, or the Art Building, where Alisa was headed.

If it was the Art Building, if he’d put Alisa in danger again, this meant _war._ One he wasn’t going to win.

When they found out fact that the target had, in fact, been in the Art Building, only a few yards from where Alisa had been standing, Uriel wasn’t sure who had been more upset, her or Bryn.

Alisa had been an inconsolable mess, tormented by seeing something so horrible happen to someone she’d actually known, recognized, and talked to just before it happened, not that she could tell either Bryn or Uriel who it was through her hysterical crying.

Bryn had been a furious tornado, wanting to know just what “those _useless_ cops were doing that was _so_ much more important than this”. She practically foamed at the mouth when they finally walked Alisa away from the police, Shancoe having pushed the poor girl so far she’d begun crying hysterically to the point where she couldn’t even manage to get her inhaler out of her purse, her anxiety getting the better of her.

Uriel, though, had been silent, her mind wrapped around all the different tortures she knew, and she could think of off the top of her head an almost disturbing number of tortures. She wouldn’t voice her anger, throw a fit. No, that would do no good. She would be slow and methodical with how she dealt with this. She would become many things, but nice, certainly, was not going to be one of them.

Bryn and Alisa fell asleep long before Uriel, the two curled together on the mat they’d set up on the floor for the three of them. Once she was sure they wouldn’t wake up—once those two were asleep, they were _asleep_ — she made her way out the window and onto the roof, waiting for the inevitable visit she knew she would get.

“You’re quite irate,” Daemon said blithely, as if he were simply commenting on the weather. “I could practically smell it all the way across campus.” He sat down next to her, not actually touching her. “You need to be more careful with how you project these things. You’re making it too easy.” Edgar, sensing that his favorite Human was not at all happy, switched from Daemon’s shoulder to hers, nuzzling her cheek affectionately until she responded in kind. “Sometimes,” Daemon complained, staring at the two, “I’m willing to bet my life that that bird likes _you_ more than _me._ ”

Edgar squawked, almost as if in answer, and went back to comforting Uriel.

“I wouldn’t bet against you,” Uriel answered in a tight, tired voice, as she ran her fingers across and through Edgar’s feathers. “He does always abandon you when I’m around.” For the first time since the last snipping, she smiled. “I think you’re just his substitute until he can see me again.”

Daemon smiled back, glad to see Uriel back the way she was. He knew she was a vengeful little spitfire—it came with being a McCarthy—but he hated the idea of her plotting so . . . coldly. It made his hair stand on end. Uriel McCarthy was not a glass doll by any means; she was quite strong, but she shouldn’t _have_ to be strong. That’s what he was there for.

“Who was she?” Uriel asked quietly, wanting to put a name to the body. “Alisa saw, but . . .”

“. . . But she’s not handling it well, I know.” He put a comforting hand on Uriel’s back, and was pleased when she didn’t shove it off. “She’s a sweet girl. Innocent.”

“She’s in danger is what she is,” Uriel bit out, her tongue turning to ash at the idea of someone targeting Alisa! “I need to figure out who the guy is, just what the _hell_ it is that he wants to accomplish by murdering these girls, and why those two girls.”

Daemon sighed, not bothering to give her the same speech on not getting involved that Uriel had given Bryn only a few weeks ago. Uriel’s friends were in danger; there was no such thing as “wrong” or “right” anymore.

“It was Natalie Jinkins,” he answered, taking his hand off her before she could push it away. “Her father’s been in cahoots’ with yours since they were children. She came to every damn party.” He looked at Uriel, “Do you remember?”

Uriel remembered Natalie alright. Despite her family’s manner, she was a nice girl, a bit of a know-it-all, but nice when it came down to it. She remembered Natalie’s blunt attitude the first time they’d met. Uriel had been hiding out on the balcony and Natalie, not one to mince words, asked her why she decided to spend so much time avoiding her own family.

They may not have been friends, but Natalie hadn’t deserved this.

“So that leaves two options,” Uriel said eventually. “Either he _is_ targeting Alisa, and he’s just a crappy shot—”

“No way,” Daemon stopped her. “My contacts told me it was almost a perfect headshot, right between the eyes. He was aiming for Natalie.” Daemon wanted to stop this. He shouldn’t be indulging Uriel like this. The other Vamps already gave him crap—as much as one could give a 431 year old Vampire—for doting on her as much as he did. He was putting more targets on her back than he knew he could get rid of.

“ _Or,”_ Uriel said, ignoring the interruption, “He’s targeting girls from wealthy families from my hometown.” Uriel smirked. “That’s not too bad.”

Daemon prayed she was kidding. Please let her just be joking. Let her smile and laugh and ask him if he really thought she was serious.

Come on.

He was _still_ waiting.

And she _still_ didn’t laugh.

“Think about it,” she ordered, scooting closer. “Almost no one from Samsonville ever leaves. There aren’t that many, and he can’t be targeting them all.”

Daemon sighed, wondering how the hell she’d managed to give a _Vampire,_ a creature incapable of falling to human illnesses, a headache. “You realize that _you’re_ a girl from a wealthy family from your hometown, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling sadistically, “but, if I’m lucky, he’ll go for Gabriel first.”

Since classes had been canceled once again, Daemon had been able to spend the entire night talking to Uriel, half to attempt to make sure she took the whole thing seriously and half to keep her awake so she wouldn’t have any nightmares.

When the sun finally came up, he said his goodbyes and left before either of her roommates woke up. It wasn’t that he _had_ to get out of the sun—the whole coffins, holy water, crosses, and sunlight thing was just humans trying to imagine faults that didn’t exist— he just didn’t want to deal with a Mother Hen Bryn asking him what he thought he was doing, hanging around Uriel so late at night.

He wasn’t sure if her aversion to him was because he was a vampire or because she simply didn’t like him. Not many Human Casters had an issue with Vampires—not since blood banks had been invented—but there was still some animosity between Humans and Vampires.

Not as bad as the one between the Humans and Fae.

Fae could be bastards when they wanted to. Their status almost always dictated their attitude. The higher up you were on the Fae Social Ladder, the higher your nose was. Bryn and Alisa were the only exceptions Uriel knew, and they were both Halflings.

Either way, it was better they didn’t know about this midnight talk, or any of the ones that had come before it.

 

* * *

 

About an hour later, a knock sounded at the door. “Uriel McCarthy,” a voice called out from the other side. “Open up.”

All three girls looked at the door strangely, Alisa and Bryn because they had just woken up, Uriel because she’d recognized the voice all too well.

“Vice Principal West,” Uriel said sourly, but politely as she opened the door to reveal one of the many banes of her existence on the other side. “Is there something wrong?”

Mr. West, the head vice principal, was a piece of work. He was rude, impolite, and inconsiderate of anyone other than himself. Even Ms. Hipply, the vice principal that had become so bad the teachers had an _alarm system_ made just for her, often told him he went too far.

Uriel wished she could blame his rude mannerisms or his behavior on looks, like many did with Hipply, but she couldn’t. He was a Fae, a Fair Folk. They’re all unnaturally _beautiful_. He would be considered beautiful by any random human on the street, with his tall frame, broad shoulders, and pale skin. Add gorgeous black hair and swirling eyes that changed depending on the viewer’s preference, he’d do better as a model than a teacher, but no. He had to work at _Larum_ and cause everyone so much goddamn _trouble_.

“Were you one of the students who used a defensive Cast in the math building?” he asked in a way that meant he had already decided that she did, and hardly cared if she said “yes” or not.

“Yes,” Uriel answered simply, feeling Alisa and Bryn coming up behind her questioningly. “We heard a gunshot and reacted. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Come with me,” he said, walking away without caring that she was still in her large Night Vale shirt and black pajama pants. When her turned and saw that she hadn’t moved, he beckoned her like some kind of dog. “Now, Ms. McCarthy.”

Uriel wasn’t quite sure who it was who had growled louder, Alexander or _her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I also have another confession to make: I wrote in Mr. West when I was incredibly P.O.ed with a vice principal at my school. I left lunch early to go to my class and he suspended me and twenty other people for being in an unauthorized area. Yeah. Twelve years without even a detention, and I get suspended for the day. Now, normally, I wouldn't have been so upset, but my mom isn't one of those "Oh, it's OK. You didn't mean to do anything wrong" moms. Uh-uh. So I spent the rest of that day crying cause, to quote myself "My mama gon' kill me". And she almost did, if the counselor hadn't been kind enough to call ahead and explain the situation.


	5. Humiliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, not even two hours and I already have three hits!

* * *

 

_I’m trouble/ Yeah trouble now/ I’m trouble ya’ll/ I disturb my town/ I’m trouble/ Yeah trouble now/ I’m trouble ya’ll/ I got trouble in my town_

-Trouble

Written By Tim Armstrong and P!nk

Mad Famous By P!nk

 

* * *

 

Uriel felt relieved to see, at least, thirty other students in the office, all of whom were also in their pajamas, none having been given the time to change. She recognized some as the others in the math building who followed her lead with the Casts, and assumed that the others were also people from other buildings who reacted to the gunshot.

There were so many other kids there, all of them from different Styles.

As she stood next to the door—there weren’t enough seats for how many kids were in the office—she let her mind wander around the subject.

There was only seven kinds of Casting: Tantra, which was a kind of elemental magic, Voodoo, which was actually more of a religion that involved invoking a God, Spirits, and Saints than a kind of “magic”, Illusion, which was just like it sounded, Divination, the ability to see into the future that only Fae could have, Necromancy, control of the dead that only Humans ever used nowadays, Shifting, a Vampire’s ability to change their shape, and Alchemy, which was really more of a science than a magic.

She’d been using her Tantra since she was nine, a pretty young age to come into your Casting. It was, mostly, used by Fae, when they ever used it, and Daemon was the only Vampire she could think of off the top of her head who used it. It took having a deep, almost spiritual, connection with the earth and all that came from it in all of their forms. It mostly focused on the five basic elements: earth, wood, fire, water, and metal. Uriel loved Tantra to the very core of her being, something that was rare in most Casters of all styles. No matter what the element, it always stayed the same inside, never changing, never lying. There weren’t that many famous Tantra casters, as those particular Casters tend to want to avoid society and cities at all costs. The only ones she could think of were Buddha and, maybe, that “Grizzly Man” dude from the news, but she was almost scared to admit to that particular one.

Bryn had given her diatribe on Voodoo so many times that Uriel could almost recite it from memory. Even though Voodoo was treated like a type of magic and portrayed as “antagonistic” in movies, it was actually more of a religion, and, like all religions, could be warped by the ones who practiced it. Even Voodoo dolls, despite their name, weren’t actually Voodoo, they were a kind of European witchcraft (as in: actual dark magic, which no sane Voodoo Caster touched). Bryn had prattled on about the numerous _good_ Voodoo users, but none of them had stuck. Still, Uriel knew little things about Voodoo, like how Bryn had been using her white gloves and brown leather sacks to enhance her protection spells, since certain colors had certain meanings.

Alisa, Abby, and Gabriel were the only ones Uriel knew who, for sure, were Illusionists. It could either be an incredibly flashy but faulty kind of Casting, like Gabriel’s casting which was only meant to draw attention, or a small, detailed kind that you were never sure whether it was real or not, like Abby or Alisa’s. Almost all the great magicians had to have had at least a little Illusion Casting in their blood, especially Houdini. There was no way that bastard was that good. No way in hell. She’d say Chris Angel was one, but she wasn’t sure what _species_ that guy was since she’d certainly never heard of it.

Uriel had a special kind of hatred for Divination. It was so unpredictable and prone to change! The future can’t possibly be set in stone, but that’s what all the Divination Casters swear to despite the fact that those very visions and predictions can change depending on living creatures actions and decisions, both of which change at the drop of a hat. She had to accept the fact that it was, in fact, a kind of casting, but that didn’t mean she had to agree that there wasn’t a single con artist of charlatan among the class. It helped that the only ones who could use it were the Fae, and she wasn’t exactly one to get along with them often.

Almost her entire family was made up of Necromancers. It was the other half of her family line, other than Tantra. Both Raphael, Michael, and their father used it almost regularly. It was a _hugely_ controversial type of Casting, probably the most, since, more often than not, it wound up being used incorrectly. Even though it _can_ be used for some good things—like helping spirits move on or bringing some back temporarily to give messages—it was more frequently used by people who liked to play God with life and death. All Necromancers like to gloat that they can bring back the dead, but few of them ever _really_ bring them back as they were—it takes more energy and magic than most Humans have. Shoving a spirit back into its rotting or already rotted corpse, that’s easy— Raphael did it all the time just for fun— but actually bringing someone back, just as they were without any kind of residual damage, that was much harder.

It hadn’t been done in _decades_.

Most Vampires either kept the Casting they had before they were turned, like Daemon, or, if they didn’t have one or were born Vampires (yes, Vampires can have children) and their parents didn’t have any Casting, just became shifters. Kind of like nature giving them a way to fight back. They could become whatever they wanted—hence the bat and wolf myths—as long as it had a working circulation system. Some good Shifters, and by good, Uriel meant Dracula, could shift into other people. Yeah, she said Dracula. He was real.

At least, Daemon said he was.

Then there was Alchemy. Poor, poor Alchemy, who, more often than not, was ignored by everyone else. All the other types of Casting came from family lines. You couldn’t get it unless, somewhere along the lines, you had a family member who could use it too. Alchemy, though, was almost more like a science. You didn’t need family ties to do it, just a sharp mind. As a result, some of the more rare Casters, like Tantra or Illusion, tended to look down on them, but that was years ago and, even if you could see hints of it in some people, it was more ignored than ridiculed since the Casting Caste System had been abolished years before Daemon had been turned.

Uriel could have kept this train of thought for days before she was stopped. Thankfully, though, she heard a “ _Holy_ _shit_ ,” uttered and the instinctual flinch at the curse (she was raised as a good little girl) made her jump out of her own head.

“What?” one of the other girls in a far-too-skimpy-to-bring-to-school nightgown whimpered, looking like she was about to cry. “What’s wrong?”

Everyone looked to the speaker, who had had his ear pressed against the door to West’s private office. “He’s suspending us!”

Uriel heard a sharp gasp behind her before a muffled sniffling. Turning, she saw poor, unsuspecting Abigail Lee. Uriel had a pretty good guess as to what was going on through her head, having actually been in her presence the last time Abby had even been _accused_ of something and having seen the exact reaction her mother, Ms. Lee, had. It hadn’t been pretty and, when the charges proved to not only been false, but trumped up, Uriel had never seen a mother scream so fiercely over her child, nor had she seen an equivalent since, but it was understandable, since Mr. Lee had skipped town years ago and, other than her money, Abby was all the woman had left.

“Hey,” Uriel said, coming up next to Abigail, who had a horribly unflattering pair of pajamas on, “Its fine. I know you, Abigail. Eleven years in school and you’ve never even had _detention_. He’s not gonna suspend _you_ of all people for defending yourself.”

Abigail sobbed pitifully as she tried to compose herself. “I can’t get suspended, Uriel,” she said, obviously trying to get a hold on her emotions. “My mom’ll throttle me within an inch of my life, and you _know_ that she can do it and they’d never catch her!”

It was true. Ms. Lee, a criminal psychology professor at the local college by trade who had been a teacher at public school before she made it to the big leagues, wasn’t one to simply take “I didn’t do anything” as an excuse for any kind of punishment. You had to explain exactly _what_ was going on and exactly _why_ one would assume you’d done something before she took your side. There was no chance of her not siding with her daughter after the situation was explained, but Uriel didn’t think Abigail was thinking clearly.

Things only got worse as more and more kids came out of the room, looking dejected and claiming that he hadn’t even given them the time to explain the circumstances before West proceeded with suspending them for three days—more than the actual punishment in the school rules. Eventually, Uriel heard her own name called. Squaring her shoulders and raising her head, she prepared herself for battle.

 

* * *

 

“You knew that Casting in the school halls was against the rules, Ms. McCarthy,” West said before she even spoke. “I’m sure you have a ‘good reason’ for it.” His voice was sarcastic, mocking, and superior; so much like her father’s that Uriel couldn’t resist answering.

“I’m assuming a fear for my life is good enough.”

Both of them stopped. Uriel waiting for him to answer, and West wondering if he’d heard right. Uriel knew what he thought, what all the teachers who had never met her thought. She was insane— driven mad by some nightmares. Her _condition_ , they thought, had made her so meek and frightful that she and her siblings had been sent here so their parents didn’t have to watch their daughter slowly go mad.

They underestimated her, and, played correctly, that misconception could only work in her favor.

“I don’t care about your reasons,” West said eventually, eyes not even on her. “You broke the rules. Sign here.” He pushed a piece of paper towards her, and Uriel was tempted not to sign it. She was oh, so tempted, but she would have to play this right. She’d sign the damn thing now, but it _wasn’t_ staying.

“There’s nothing wrong with defending yourself,” Uriel grumbled as she signed her name sloppily on the paper. “It’s common sense.”

West sneered at her, looking like a king on his throne rather than an underpaid employee in a crappy chair that Uriel hoped would break one day with him in it, or that she would be given the chance to break it _on_ him.

“It doesn’t matter. You broke the rules.”

She saw him reach for the phone and blanched. No. He couldn’t possibly be about to—

“Mr. McCarthy, this is Edmund West from Larum Academy.” Forget the sniper; Uriel was going to wring _West’s_ neck by the time this was over. “I have your daughter, Uriel, in my office. She’s being suspended from classes for Casting in an unauthorized area. Good day.”

Uriel was becoming more and more frustrated with this man. “No one out there had any idea about this so called rule!”

“I. Don’t. Care.” West said simply, taking the paper and waving her off.

 

* * *

 

Uriel stayed behind, like most of the others to share her own experience. Her’s weren’t the only parents who’d been called; several other teens were already on the phone with their own angry parents, desperate to avoid any punishment. Mostly though, Uriel stayed to see how badly Abigail would handle West. Despite her own belief, Abigail hadn’t taken the situation _half_ as bad as Uriel thought she would.

She took it much worse.

“He called my _mom_ , Uriel,” Abigail cried, smothering the words with Uriel’s shoulder in a herculean effort to keep from making a scene. “He just told her I’d been suspended, he didn’t even tell her how long or for what! She’s gonna be _so_ mad, Uriel! She _told_ me not to get in trouble, and it’s not even the second semester yet! God, this is going to disappoint her so, so _much_!”

Abigail continued to ramble on like that, hyperventilating during her breaks, for fifteen minutes before Uriel had finally had enough.

“Cael,” she called, motioning for a Fae she’d had some classes with over. He was a nice enough guy. A bit of a prick, but never went _too_ far. “Go get Abernathy,” she ordered. “Tell her West’s lost his mind, gave a student a panic attack, and is risking a hell of a lot of law suits.”

“Is she having a panic attack?” one girl asked, motioning toward Abigail.

“I’m not sure,” she answered, stroking Abigail’s hair in an attempt to comfort her. “Considering she hasn’t told us whether or not she’s having a panic attack because she can’t _breathe,_ I’m going to assume she is.” Uriel looked to where Cael had been, only to see him already gone.

“He can’t stand it when a girl cries,” the other girl explained. “He’ll be back here with Abernathy before West finishes with this one.” She stuck her hand out. “Danica Williams,” she said. “Fae.”

Ah, that explained it. Uriel was sure her eyes were far too green to be natural. Her blonde hair, petite figure, and pale skin, she could accept, but the eyes were _always_ a dead giveaway. “Uriel McCarthy,” she answered, shaking the hand. “Human. This is Abigail Lee; she’s Human too, but not one of the big, fancy families. Her mom’s a bit strict, so . . .”

“I get it,” Danica answered, smiling at her brightly. “I almost lost it when he suspended me too. Cael might have gone back in there and hit him if I hadn’t stopped him.”

“I think he’ll have to get in line,” Uriel said, pointing to the mass of angry teenagers glaring at West’s door. “There’ll be a fan club for the one who _does_ , though.”

While the two waited for Cael to get there with Abernathy (her office was on the other side of the campus, but Danica had assured Uriel that Cael, as part of the JROTC squad, could run faster and longer than some of the track boys), they both tried to calm Abigail down in desperate attempts to get her to breathe properly. It was painfully obvious that, despite the intensity of the attack itself and how fast it had hit, Abigail had never had a panic attack before and had no idea how to deal with one. Danica, while never having had or seen one before, was trying so hard to calm her down, using the usual attempts at calming someone down.

Uriel, after being friends with Alisa for years, was a veteran at panic attacks.

Uriel had learned that, no matter what, the person having the panic attack had to calm _themselves_ down to get out of the attack. All you could do was try and keep people from making it worse and help them through it until its end.

Before Abigail got through it, though, the door slammed open, revealing a furious Adalia Abernathy. Had this been a cartoon, steam would have been pouring from the woman’s ears like a steam engine. Oh, Abernathy was _not_ happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case you can't tell, Abernathy is totally a combination of everything I've ever wanted to say to anyone ever, Minerva McGonagal from Harry Potter, and Frigga from Thor with just a sprinkle of Darcy Lewis/Kat Dennings (are they even different people?). Danica is based on one of the SWEETEST people I have ever met, and Cael is also her boyfriend in real life. He's actually a really nice guy, which is saying something in the town I live in.


	6. Confidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, something two characters I didn't talk about initially cause I'm just forgetful that way: Michael and Gabriel. Now, originally, there WAS a point to their names all being the original four archangels, but that was part of the original plot that wasn't nearly as good at this one, but kind of had the same elements and characters. I decided to go with this instead, and I'm glad I did, so their names are just a nod to my original idea. 
> 
> Michael is based off of a lot of guys I grew up with. I mentioned that there are very few nice guys in my town, and that's true, because most of the nice guys got mixed up with bad kids and we all got to watch as they became less than what they were. I'm not saying all the jocks and preppy people in my school and town are horrible people, far from it, but I knew a lot of guys who tried to become popular like "in the movies" and it's backfiring on them harshly.
> 
> As for Gabriel, I mentioned that I was mixed? Well, my African American traits come out more than any of my others, especially in my hair. I used to have really long hair, but I could never leave it down because it was more of an afro and it was, at least, two and a half feet long when flat. That's way too much hair. When I was in elementary and middle school, a lot of girls used to make fun of me because I couldn't style my hair like they did and, for a long time, I had to have my hair in these really thick, really long braids/dread locks. I heard more racist Jamaican jokes that year than the rest of my life combined. Now that we're headed out of high school, though, my hair's become much easier to manage, my ski's cleared up, and apparently, freckles are a huge thing. Meanwhile, most of that group have taken so many drugs they look thirty. I'm not kidding. So this is where Gabriel comes from. She's not some random bully, and she DOES have a purpose. I really did a lot more with her in later stories, though. Like, hard core.

* * *

 

_Who cares/ If you disagree? / You are not me/ Who made you king of anything? / So you dare/ Tell me who to be/ Who died and made you king of anything?_

-King of Anything

Written and Made Famous By Sarah Bareilles

 

* * *

 

 

Almost  _everyone_  had grown up around Abernathy. Even the Vampires weren’t sure how old she was, whether she was Fae or Vampire, which founder she was, or anything. She was just always  _there_ , and like the Glow Cloud no one really questioned it.

Abernathy always reminded Uriel of Professor McGonagall from Harry Potter—tall, regal, and fair. Her skin was barely wrinkled, but her entire head of hair was a silver-like grey. She had the most gorgeous set of blue eyes that Uriel had ever seen and she wished dearly that hers could be the same. Abernathy wore a long robe over her pajamas—it was  _really_ early in the morning—and a livid look looming on her face with a grace and power that spoke of her position.

“Where’s the girl?” she asked, Cael, her voice tight, but not angry at him or Abby.

“Over here,” Danica called quietly. Uriel was beginning to see that she spoke like that often. Once Abernathy made it over to them Danica explained the situation. “She just can’t seem to calm down,” Danica said, not complaining whatsoever. Uriel wasn’t sure if the other girl was capable of it, but she was too concerned about Abby to think about it too much.

“Oh, dear,” Abernathy whispered, her face switching from enraged to compassionate as she took in Abby’s shaking form. “It’ll be alright, Sweetie,” she said, rubbing Abby’s back as she led her and Danica out of the room. “I’ll sort this out.” She looked at Danica. “Get her to the nurse. I’m sure she’ll know what to do.” Danica nodded and, carefully, steered the sobbing girl out of the room, holding her closely as the two made their way down the hallway.

As soon as both of them were out of sight, Abernathy practically deformed before Uriel’s eyes before becoming Angry Adalia Abernathy once more. “Everybody to that wall,” she ordered pointing to the wall directly opposite of them. “I want  _witnesses_ for this.” She sneered at several people who had not-so-discreetly pulled out their cells. “Feel free to tape  _the whole damn thing.”_

Uriel was practically shaking in a giddy glee. She’d seen Abernathy’s expression on her father or Elizabeth’s face when she or her siblings had slipped up publicly. Abernathy may not be as violent, but, if her attitude was any indication, she was going to be just as ruthless.

West, not knowing what was waiting for him, sent his latest victim, a Vampire Uriel had never met, outside before Abernathy called to him. “West, get your ass out here,  _now!”_

Everyone jumped. If anyone had been scared of how angry Abernathy looked _,_  they  _pissed_  themselves when she shouted. West, though, strolled out, back straight and head held high, his face smug, as if he wasn’t seconds away from being fired.

“Yes, Principal?” he asked.

He was so calm and composed that most of the students around Uriel, and even Uriel herself, were staggered. He wasn’t the least bit frightened or put off by Abernathy’s loathing. When they’d heard her scream, they’d all but hid under the desks, but he wasn’t even a shade paler than before.

 Abernathy, though, didn’t even blink. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me,  _Edmund_ ,” she warned. “I helped raise you in this damn school and I will kick you out of it if I have to, Board of Directors be damned!”

West  _did_  pale at that, especially after she used his first name. “Principal, surely this conversation is better held outside of the student’s ears,” Uriel could hear it in his voice—the panic and embarrassment, the helplessness and desperation. It made her grin to see him wiggle and flinch just like he made Abby.

“No, Edmund,” she ordered. “They are going to see this, record it, and probably show it to their friends on MyTube.” She marched towards him and Uriel saw him  _visibly_ shudder at her cold tone despite the obvious mistaken website naming. “You marched them down here, one by one, in their pajamas, some in the dead of night, others right after they woke up. You humiliated them, accused them of acts they did  _not_  commit, and insulted some of them.” Abernathy was on a roll as she stalked around him, eyeing him as he began sweating like a sinner in church. “You put their and their parents’ faith in this school,  _my_ school, in jeopardy in a desperate attempt to regain control that you don’t have like a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. You’ve made me get up,  _without my coffee_ to clean up  _your mess!”_  Uriel’s smile widened at West as he became more and more agitated. “Most importantly, you’ve put your useless, pathetic  _ego_  before the health of one of our students!” She stopped in front of him, looking him dead in the eye. “Are you proud of yourself, Edmund? Did giving a fifteen-year-old girl a panic attack and making her cry satisfy your bruised ego?”

West gulped before answering. “W-We have to send a message to the students and their parents th-that such blatant acts of disregard for the rules and-and regulations w-will not be tolerated by the s-staff any longer,” he claimed, visibly struggling so hard not to look away or break down so much that Uriel could see the bastard shaking.

“Are their parents here?!” Abernathy screeched, waving her arms around her and causing both West and the students to jump. “No, they’re not. They’re cozy in their beds, about to go on with their day before they get two calls, who from your ignorant self telling them that their child is a juvenile delinquent and another that I’m going to have to make for each one of them, apologizing for your stupidity, oversight, and ‘blatant’ ignorance! And that’s only if you didn’t wake them with your over-sized gob already! I can understand it when I see the children misbehaving—they’re grieving. They’ve just lost, not one, but  _two,_  fellow classmates, some of them in front of their very eyes, but you?” She waved her hand up and down his figure, an almost disgusted look on her face. “You are an adult! When I agreed to let you stay here after your over thirty-year-long graduation to teach,  _I expected you to act like one!_ This is not a game! Some of these children saw someone  _die_  yesterday!

“But, no. This is not the first complaint I have had against you, Edmund, and it’s not the first time I will have to overrule an unfair suspension from you. Did you honestly think that Ms. Charlton and the other counselors wouldn’t tell me about how many student’s they’ve had in their offices these past years practically begging them to help them to understand  _why_ they’d been suspended by you? Do you have any idea how many lawsuits I’ve had to fight off and dodge over you and your obsessive need to automatically suspend the students here? But this—” she pointed at the group of twenty some odd students, “—this is an entirely new magnitude, even for you!

“I’m ignoring every suspension you’ve made today, and I’m demoting you to hall monitor,” Abernathy said eventually, shocking everyone in the room. “I may not be able to fire you because of tenure, even after this  _catastrophe_ , but I damn well can make your life a living hell until you remember  _just who runs this school.”_

With that, Abernathy swept away, her robe swishing in the wind.

“McCarthy,” she called from the hallway. “Come with me.”

For once, Uriel didn’t ask for a reason before fallowing an order.

 

* * *

 

 

Uriel had never been to the principal’s office. Even when she went to a “normal” school, she’d never managed to do anything worth going there. The counselor, sure. When a kid comes to school suddenly covered in scratch marks, people tend to notice, but never the principal.

“You’re not in trouble, Uriel,” Abernathy said, her voice still tight with irritation, though Uriel doubted it was directed at her. “I’ve just been meaning to have a nice, long conversation with you for a while, and I’ve put it off for long enough.” She sighed as she took her seat. “If I know your . . . mother, you’ll get some flack over today whether I call and explain or not,” she smiled despite how she purposely paused before saying the word “mother” and spitting it out like poison, “But there’s no harm in me trying.”

“It’s alright,” Uriel explained. “She never gets  _too_  mad.” Now that was a barefaced lie. Elizabeth McCarthy was a furious woman who threw temper tantrums the likes of which no school teacher had ever seen. The woman thought it was almost funny when she saw the damage she did when she threw her fits, no matter to what or whom.

“Don’t sugar coat it, sweetie,” Abernathy warned. “I’ve known that overgrown child since the little brat was born, and I’m honestly surprised that she managed to have one kid at all, let alone four.” Uriel hadn’t been able to wipe the shock off of her face before Abernathy saw it and laughed. “What? She’s not my student anymore, and I didn’t have to be nice to or about her even when she was.”

Uriel, not thinking, just blurted out, “Please tell me West doesn’t hate me because of some weird obsession with my mother!”

Her shout was met with a silence that put her on edge.  _No, no, it couldn’t be. There was no possible way that West had been insane enough to—_

Abernathy practically fell out of her chair laughing.

“Oh, good God,” she cried. “Sweet baby Jesus!” As the laughter rocked through the older woman, she  _did_  fall out of the chair, sliding down the inside of her desk until she was sitting on the floor, laughing hysterically.

Uriel waited patiently for Abernathy’s Joker impression to reach its end. Once it finally did, she was glad to see her principal crawl back into the chair as the older woman snickered violently and smiled at Uriel, mirth and tears in her eyes. “Oh, Lord no, sweetie,” Abernathy said. “No, Edmund _hated_  both your father and your mother, though I do love the fact that you’ve read enough Harry Potter and the ilk that you automatically came to that conclusion. It speaks well about your taste. No, it’s your  _sister_  who got you in this predicament.”

Why was Uriel not surprised in the least? She knew that Gabriel had her hand in a lot of pies, but she hadn’t thought that any of them involved anyone more important than the athletic captains. “She ordered him to suspend me?”

Abernathy shook her head. “Years ago one of her many minions issued the order. An attempt to . . . usurp her power.” She chuckled. “My school has become the reincarnation of a Game of Thrones High School Edition cast. Anyways, he’s been trying to get rid of you since you got here.” Her almost permanent smile gained some pride to it. “Of course, you’ve walked quite the straight line since you got here.”

‘For a psychopath’.

The words weren’t said, but Uriel could  _hear_ them, she heard it in everyone’s voice, even Bryn and Alisa’s sometimes. When she was younger, she got sick and tired of it often. As the years passed, though, and more people began to use it, she just let it go.

“You’re my favorite, you know,” Abernathy said eventually, yanking Uriel from her inner brooding. “I’ve seen your family come to and from this school for generations, and I can always pick my favorite from the moment I see them.” Abernathy sighed heavily. “So few good children, all surrounded by so many rotten eggs.”

Uriel was quiet, watching a myriad of different emotions she couldn’t recognize fall over Abernathy’s face, trying to commit each one to memory. “I don’t think a principal’s supposed to have favorites,” Uriel said eventually, smiling.

Abernathy’s spirits seemed to lift, if only a little. “No, no we’re not, but I do, and I run my school best when I know who my favorites are.” She sighed. “You remind me so much of your ancestor, the  _Tantra_  Founder, not the Necromancer. He was a piece of work, but she . . . she fought against her family. So hard, so, so hard.” She smiled sadly at Uriel. “Just like you. I’ve heard your fights with your siblings, you know. You’re such a _strong_  girl.” A hint of fear and grief tinted her eyes. “Don’t let that strength die out, Uriel. Please.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, Dr. White, isn't really based on anybody, just a combination of teachers who I really didn't like, which isn't that many because I tend to get along with my teachers pretty well. Also: THIS IS NOT HOW ACTUAL DOCTORS ACT! I AM TAKING ARTISTIC LIBERTIES. I hope. I know that there are stories of Doctors acting like this, but, as someone who's been on medication for wacky brain chemistry for almost a decade now, I can honestly say that medication and therapy CAN help SOME people. Just not Uriel. She's a special snowflake.


	7. Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I want to prelude this with a warning that DR. WHITE IS AN ASSHOLE BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT MAKES THIS STORY GO ROUND. And so I have more people to kill later on if I have to. Never hurts to have cannon fodder.

* * *

 

 

_You’ll never know what hit you/ Won’t see me closing in/ I’m gonna make you suffer/ This hell you put me in/ I’m underneath your skin/ The devil within/ You’ll never know what hit you_

-The Devil Within

Written By Andrea Wasse

Made Famous By The Digital Daggers

* * *

 

Abernathy, obviously to Uriel, would have loved to talk with her more, but, sadly, she had thirty some-odd parents to call, her father being one of them, before  _she_  got calls— from lawyers.

Once she was free to go, Uriel all but sprinted to her room, looking around corners to make sure no one caught her in her pajay-jays, as Bryn would call them.

Everything had become so surreal. Abernathy had known her entire family.

There had been other people in her family who were not horrible douche bags.

_She_  was Abernathy’s favorite.

Abernathy  _had_  favorites.

Uriel wasn’t sure exactly what to do with all of this. She’d use it to her advantage if she needed to—nothing was above reproach when certain aspects were on the line—but her gut clenched at the thought of using her connection to Abernathy wrongly. She actually liked the old woman, though she’d never call her “old” to her face.

 

* * *

 

“Do I need to go cut a bitch?” Bryn asked angrily when Uriel finally came back from Abernathy’s office, having successfully avoided anyone seeing her in her pajamas.

“I can trick him into forgetting it,” Alisa said confidently, “All we need is a sheet of paper, a pen, and some rap music.” Bryn and Uriel both looked at her questioningly. “What?” she asked. “You could take over the world with rap music.”

All three girls looked at each other silently before bursting into laughter. “Sometimes, Ali,” Uriel said, plopping down on her bed, which was right in front of a Movie version of Serverus Snape and Sarah Michelle Gellar as Buffy. “I worry about you.”

“Worry all you want,” Alisa said, hopping onto her own bed, which was right in front of Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock and Mark Sheppard as Crowley. “It won’t save you.”

“Seriously, though,” Bryn said. “Last we heard, you guys were all getting suspended. There’s been no word since.” She sat on her bed, which was in front of an Aslan and Bilbo Baggins impersonations—the latest movie adaptations for each. “He can’t do that, can he?”

Uriel smiled— the look a cross between happy and insane. “Not according to Abernathy. I got Cael to go and get her, apparently she had to come get us before she had her coffee and was  _not_  happy about it.” Her smile only grew at the memory. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one man sweat so much.”

“What happened?”

Uriel explained the entire story, embellishing a bit on what Abernathy said to West and completely omitting the bit about her being Abernathy’s favorite.

She’d save that for her inevitable conversation with Daemon once the girls were asleep.

“Oh, somebody’s thinking about  _Daemon,”_ Alisa cooed in a sing-songy voice.

“What?” Uriel said, not even realizing that she had to be knocked out of her thoughts. “No. No, I’m just—”

“Cut the act Uriel,” Bryn warned knowingly. “We know about the late-night visits—”

“—The talks on the roof,” Alisa added.

“—The info he feeds you all the damn time—”

“—The way he fought  _three_  other Vampires for  _mentioning_  your blood—”

“—And the fact that he and Michael have been tag teaming on keeping an eye on you.”

Alisa was having far too much fun with this, though Bryn didn’t seem to as much. Her face was . . . cold was the only adjective Uriel could come up with. Cold and hard, like she wanted to say more, to object, but couldn’t.

“He’s my best friend,” Uriel said eventually, ignoring the feeling in her gut from Bryn’s attitude. “He’s always been my best friend. He’s been my best friend since before Alexander died.” She glared at both of her friends. “Do  _not_  make him feel awkward,” she warned them. “He already thinks you don’t like him.”

Bryn frowned. “You threaten to cut off a man’s balls and make him choke on them, and he  _just_  can’t let it go, can he?”

Uriel gaped at her friend in shock. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Bryn let out a squeak as she realized her slip. “Ummm.”

“Bryn,” Uriel whispered neutrally. “Tell me you did not threaten to neuter a four hundred year old vampire.”

“Technically,” Bryn said, sliding off her bed in anticipation for what she knew was ahead. “He’s four hundred thirty one.”

_“I AM GOING TO KILL YOU AND FEED THE POLICE YOUR COPRSE.”_

As the chase gave way, Alisa smiled a laughed. This was their family. They weren’t always normal, or functional, but they were what the others needed, when the others needed. It certainly wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it was good enough for the three of them

 

* * *

 

 

“Let’s go higher up tonight,” Uriel warned Daemon when he finally stepped out of the shadows. “Too many  _prying ears_  down here.”

Daemon shook with laugher as he helped her up. “Bryn finally told you that she’s an eavesdropper, huh?”

“It’s not eavesdropping when you two aren’t even trying to be quiet,” Bryn complained, her eyes still shut in a faux sleep.

Uriel bristled as she walked across the roof, fighting the urge to stomp her feet and wake whoever was underneath. “Oh, I’m gonna get her.”

She turned to sit down, Daemon taking his customary seat next to her. “Don’t bother. You know she always wins.”

Uriel smiled. “But me trying and her getting frustrated when I just give up but don’t really agree is the best part of the game.”

Uriel liked this. She liked it when Daemon came over and talked to her, which was almost every night, even though, over the years, she could see the toll it was taking on his own sleeping habits. She indulged him, though. She’d tried to send him away once before, when she’d first started noticing that, contrary to popular belief, vampires’  _do_  need to  get some actual sleep on occasion. All he’d done was sulk and worry that he was bothering her. The man was obsessive about protecting her, so she simply let it be.

“I saw Abigail Lee today,” Uriel said finally. “She’s even more wired than she used to be. I think it’s all this death. It’s putting her on edge.”

“I remember her,” Daemon answered, smiling at the memory as he let the nostalgia drop on top of them like a comfortable blanket. “She was always so sweet and polite. You could tell when she didn’t like someone or something, but she never said a word.”

“She was more scared of her mom than anyone else,” Uriel reminisced. “I remember one day, in fifth grade, a little girl acted rude towards the teacher, and it was the day parents could visit and watch their children. Ms. Lee got  _so_  mad; she stomped across the classroom like a woman on a mission from God and ripped her a new one.” She smiled as the memory danced in her head. “Abigail was so scared her mother was coming after her she hid behind one of the other kids, even after Ms. Lee sat back down.”

“And then Ms. Lee wagged her finger at her and said ‘If you ever act like that, you’d better hope your teacher is nice enough to have the principal deal with you and not me,’” Daemon waggled his own finger in front of Uriel’s face and grinned as Uriel giggled. “I remember. She also stopped me and asked what a man my age was doing hanging around an elementary school once.”

Uriel laughed. Daemon, despite his centuries of age, looked like he was in his early twenties. It had been hilarious growing up, especially when the good meaning parents at her schools had reported him as “some kind of pedophile” until she finally said that he was a family friend.

“She’s all her mom has, you know,” Uriel said, looking at the sky with a kind of bitter envy. “They would eat dinner together every night.” A kind of resentment crept into her voice. “I don’t remember ever eating dinner with my family even before I went nuts.”

Now it was Daemon’s turn to bristle. “Stop that,” he ordered harshly. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that. You’re not nuts. It’s—”

“A condition,” Uriel answered. “I know. White never lets me forget.”

Uriel hated Dr. White. He was the last of many shrinks her mother had dragged her to in an effort to “fix” her. He’d been convinced that she had a _manageable_  condition. He tried to get her shipped off to an asylum (where she could get the “help” she needed) and would have, if Daemon hadn’t shown up and, in a fit of fury, thrown her father through a wall. Ever since, she’d had weekly Skype sessions with him, and her next one was tomorrow. It wasn’t that Uriel didn’t like doctors because they were all evil; she recognized that most  _wanted_  to help, and meds  _do_  help some people. White wasn’t one of those doctors, and the meds he gave her did shit good. She couldn’t tell exactly  _why_  he was so intent on making her even more insane than she already was, or why he gave her meds that she  _knew_  he knew were only going to make her worse, but he was and he did, she she put her guard up and never let it down.

“Don’t listen to him or Gabriel,” he snapped. “And  _especially_  don’t listen to Raphael. They’re just trying to get to you. They envy you.”

“Gabriel does  _not_  envy me,” Uriel answers. “She hates me. Raphael’s just a little douche nozzle. That’s all there is to it.” And it was. Gabriel hated the flack she got from being “the nut case’s sister” when her “condition” came to light and Raphael was just born with their father’s penchant for being a horrible human being. That was it.

Daemon sighed. “Let’s just agree to disagree for now, shall we?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close, now that he was sure the worst of the night was already over. “Now, what  _exactly_  happened between Edmund and Abernathy this morning, because there is no possible way that the video I saw was real.”

 

* * *

 

 

Uriel’s session with Dr. White was something she always dreaded, especially since he’d gotten his claws into the fact that she’d been there to see Tabitha’s death. He just wouldn’t leave the damn subject alone and, now that Natalie was dead and she had almost been suspended, she knew she was in for a real treat.

“So, Uriel,” Dr. White said, his droll voice coming from her laptop screen. “I hear you almost got suspended yesterday. What was that about? Were you reacting to Natalie’s death? Tabitha’s?”

This was what Dr. White liked to do. He would poke and prod, see if he could find a spot she didn’t like, and go at it like a goddamn shark when he finally smelled her blood in the water.

He wasn’t exactly a young man. He had wrinkles on his pasty cheeks and brow, his hair, a dark brown, was slowly becoming greyer and greyer as time went on, and Uriel could swear that, every time she saw him, he’d lost more of his hair than before.

“Neither,” Uriel answered. “I pulled up a shield when I heard the gunshot, like a ton of other people, and my principal, Mr. West, tried to have us _all_  suspended.” She looked at White on the screen. “Abernathy got it taken off, though, because we were acting in self defense.”

“Mmm hmm, mmm hmm,” he said. “What made you think  _you_ would be a target, Uriel? Have you done something to  _warrant_  being killed for?”

Had she not known he would write it down, Uriel would have sighed or grinded her teeth. Usually, Alisa or Daemon would have stayed to hold Uriel’s hand through the entire thing (Bryn had been banned from listening in after the infamous ‘does your mother know’ incident), but Alisa’s parents had rushed down to visit her and signed her out of school for the day and Daemon had to get  _some_ sleep or he wouldn’t be able to function the next day. Thereby, here she was, alone.

“Nothing, but I heard a  _gunshot_  after seeing someone I knew get shot and reacted accordingly. Whether  _I_  was the target didn’t matter.”

“This  _could_  be a kind of paranoia forming, Uriel,” White broached. “Are you taking all of your meds?”

No, she was most certainly  _not_ taking her meds. They were awful. They made her sleepy and exhausted. White said they were  _supposed_ to help her sleep so she could just sleep peacefully through her nightmares, but the meds only made them so much worse. She’d been flushing the damn things since she’d become old enough to know how.

Still, she wasn’t telling  _him_  that. “Yes, Dr. White. Every morning just before breakfast.”

“Are they helping?” He asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Yes,” Uriel lied. “I get a full night’s sleep at least once a week on them.” She fiddled with the string that made the arch reactor on her quilt just off screen, not able to afford showing any other sign of her lying.

“That’s wonderful.” He said, smiling to show his yellow teeth. “Now, I want to talk about Alexander today.”

Hearing his name, Alexander sat up and put his head on Uriel’s lap. Alexander  _hated_  Dr. White, probably even more than Uriel did, so he was never brought to any of her face to face sessions, despite both his and her begging and pleading.

“What about him,” Uriel asked, running her fingers through the wolf’s fur.

“Not that Alexander,” White said, still smiling. “Your old bodyguard.”

Had it been anyone else, Uriel would have closed the screen and run off. Had it been any other shrink, she would have just said, “I don’t want to talk about it,” and they would have let it go, but no. Not White. He had to find the biggest wound on her and just rip the scab right off just to watch her bleed.

“What about Alexander?” Uriel asked, trying to keep a solid lock on her emotions. She would  _not_  let him get to her. She would not let this ugly man use Alexander’s memory to make her cry.

“Well,” White said, seemingly oblivious to Uriel’s obvious discomfort, “Who do you blame for his death?”

Her father. Her bastard father, who had plenty of his own goddamn guards, but  _no_. He just  _had_  to have Alexander  _that day_. “He’ll be right back” her father said. “Just one day,” he said, but Alexander never came home.

That was the first time she’d recorded one of her father’s shady deals from her own personal space in the air vents above his office. A kind of revenge she knew she would never be able to actually cash in on.

“No one,” Uriel lied effortlessly, shoving down the bile in her throat with difficulty. “The man who killed him is dead. There’s no one left to blame.”

“That’s a very . . .  _mature_  answer, Uriel,” White said, smirking. “Do you think that growing up without Alexander  _made_  you more mature?”

Uriel had never wanted to cry so much. Even after Alexander died, she hadn’t wanted to cry as much as she did in that moment. But she wouldn’t. Not in front of him.

Not for him.

“I’m not sure,” she answered eventually, “I might just be a mature person.”

The rest of the session went smoothly, Uriel keeping her demeanor calm and composed, drawing on every ounce of control and poise she had built up inside her just for this. Finally, her hour was up, and the two signed off, agreeing to meet next week.

The second the screen went black, Uriel ran to the bathroom, expelling everything she had in her stomach as she sobbed into the porcelain deity. Alexander, the wolf, wined at the door, knowing that his mistress was distraught, but having no clue how to deal with her pain. He hadn’t been there when his namesake died, and he wasn’t sure what to do. She needed someone, but who should he get?

Alisa was gone, Bryn wouldn’t be back for the rest of the day, and Daemon was asleep. Uriel had told him vehemently years ago that he was never to wake Daemon when he was sleeping, but Alexander  _needed_  to get help.

Uriel let out a grief-stricken wail, and Alexander proverbially threw his paws in the air.

She never said the damn bird couldn’t wake him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, point I would like to make: no. Contrary to popular belief among my friends, Daemon and Uriel are NOT in a romantic relationship, nor are they crushing on one another. They are really good friends right now. That MIGHT change later, but some other stuff is going to have to happen first. Right now, they are in a completely platonic relationship. Remember, Daemon is hundreds of years old. Uriel is fourteen. Uriel is SO not ready for an actual relationship of that nature, and Daemon has some serious issues from his past that he needs to deal with before he can be considered a functioning member of society.


	8. Paranoia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter happened. And I'm not sorry. Not at all.

* * *

 

 

_Woah, I never meant to brag/ but I got him where I want him now/ Woah, it was never my intention to brag/ To steal it all away from you now/ But God does it feel so good/ ‘Cause I got him where I want him right now/ And if you could then I know you would/ ‘Cause God, it just feels so/ It just feels so good_

-Misery Business

Written ByHayley Williams and Josh Farro

Made Famous By Paramore

* * *

 

It had been years since Daemon had to drag a sobbing, inconsolable Uriel out of a bathroom as she curled into herself more and more. Not since her last breakdown, when she finally realized that the meds White had given her for the past few months just made everything _so much worse._ Even more years since Edgar decide he needed to be woken up by ripping his hair out.

But God, was he grateful to both of the familiars who warned him that White had, once again, overstepped his boundaries.

“It’s alright,” he said, pulling Uriel into his arms as she sobbed and rocking her back and forth as one would rock a child. “It’s alright. It’s gonna be _just_ fine, you watch. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Uriel wasn’t sure if she was more livid or upset. She hated it when Daemon had to come get her. She was almost fully grown, dammit. She should have passed this phase long ago.

Still, she _had_ lost it, and Daemon _had_ come, so now was the time to pull it together. For Alexander’s sake if no one else’s.

Alexander had been a large man, _huge_ to Uriel’s wide eyes. He’d always seemed invincible to her, like a mountain as opposed to a man. She’d always just _assumed_ he would be there . . . until he wasn’t anymore.

Alexander despised to see her cry. When he’d first seen her cry, she’d been eight. Back when she was first having her night terrors. She remembered it clearly despite the haze her crying had put her in at the time.

She was screaming so loudly. It was so dark and the hands hurt so, so much. She didn’t want to be there. She wanted to go back home. She just kept crying until, finally, she’d opened her eyes to see the new bodyguard Daddy had gotten standing over her.

He seemed frozen, like he didn’t know what to do. She didn’t care. Any warmth, stranger or not, was good enough for her right now.

That had been years ago, and Alexander had never left her side since.

Until her father had gotten him killed, that is.

She _hated_ her father for what he did. She was pretty sure it was the first time she’d ever properly used the word. Sure, she said she hated Gabriel and the others, but she hadn’t. Not like this. This wasn’t simply her wanting to make a point, she’d wanted to _kill_ her father, she’d thought of several ways on how to do it and, several more times, she almost had.

Still, her father was a useful asset in keeping Bryn and Alisa safe, so he, in return, was safe. For the moment.

 

* * *

 

It took two days for Uriel to completely calm down, thanks to Daemon, Bryn and Alisa not understanding that constantly mentioning _the thing_ was not helping her _deal_ with _the thing._ Eventually, though, the three got the hint and just learned to avoid any discussion of Alexander, White, or the reason why Bryn and Alisa had come home to find Daemon still rocking a sobbing mess named Uriel.

Thankfully, classes had been canceled since Natalie’s death, and none of the teachers had been able to even think of anymore projects, so Bryn was able to finish all of their math homework—when it’s all the same work and answers, no one can prove you copied—and Alisa had finished all of their English—as experienced monkey-shine-ers, they could simply warp the same idea five times, let alone three.

Those days were quiet. Gabriel had repeated her performance, feigning sympathy over White’s actions and, quite loudly, asking loudly if her “meds were helping with the stress”. After dragging her off, though, Gabriel hadn’t even bothered with pretending to stick around. Uriel had been tempted to taunt her about the orders to West, but Gabriel had been gone before any kind of witty comment could be thought of.

Michael, though, hadn’t been as quick when he’d shown up to Uriel’s room.

Bryn, Uriel, and Alisa were in the middle of a Doctor Who marathon—so many tiny details, so little time—when they heard a knock on the door, causing Uriel and Alisa to squeak/scream, as the middle of the Weeping Angel episode—those things were _terrifying—_ was so incredibly _not_ the time for random bouts of noises.

“Uriel?” a voice called, knocking again, this time softer. “Uriel, its Michael.”

 _No,_ Uriel thought, getting up from her comfortable spot in the pillow/comforter chair/bed/fort with an irritated growl, _Really? I thought it was the Easter Bunny come to take me away haha hehe hoho._

Opening the door, she saw her brother, looking a little worse for wear. His hair was sticking in several different directions, his clothes were rumpled, and Uriel saw a small bit of blood on his bottom lip, which was considerably swollen.

Had goody-two-shoes Michael McCarthy actually gotten in a fight?

“Michael?” Alisa asked, looking at Michael carefully. “What happened?” Uriel saw Alisa move to get up, but Bryn grabbed the bottom of her shirt to keep her from getting too far off the ground. Years ago, Bryn had made the mistake of getting in the middle of a **Michael vs. Uriel** argument (which is really more _Uriel_ than it is _Michael_ ), and it hadn’t ended well for her. She didn’t know just _what_ Uriel’s issue with her brother was, it seemed to be just as sore a spot as a lot of stuff Uriel had, But it was bad. Alisa, thankfully, had never been privy to any of their arguments and was just as confused.

Michael, either completely oblivious to or ignoring the tension in the room, smiled reassuringly, an act undermined by the fact that he flinched. “It’s nothing, just a flesh wound.”

“Do you even know where that came from?” Uriel snarked. God, what had he been doing? Michael doesn’t get into fights, he’s never had to actually, physically fight anyone outside of their family! What was he _thinking_?

Michael frowned at his sister. “Do _you_ remember just who showed you Monty for the first time Uri?”

“Don’t call me that,” Uriel snapped. “What’d you come here for?”

Michael sighed, running his hands through his already mussed hair. “White called Mom and said you went off your meds.” Uriel opened her mouth to argue, but Michael stopped her before she could. “Which, despite what he and Mom think, is a _good_ thing. Those pills were killing you.”

Uriel stopped short. Not sure what to do with this information. The only ones, she thought, who knew for sure that she’d been flushing the pills were the usual trio of Daemon, Alisa, and Bryn. She knew Raphael had his suspicions, but she had _more_ than enough dirt on him that he wasn’t willing to risk looking into it.

“What does this have to do with _you_ of all people fighting?”

Michael smiled at her, ruffling her hair in a familiar action. “Raph just blowing steam out of his ass, Uri, don’t worry about it. Anyway, Mom called me and told me to get you out of here—” One look at her face and he hurried to explain, “—but I promised her that I would count your pills, so, if she or White asks, I accosted your cabinet and counted every pill. Kay?”

Uriel frowned. Could she trust Michael? The whole thing could have been a trick to make her admit that she hadn’t been taking her pills at all, but, on the other hand, Michael wasn’t one to outright _lie_ to anyone, but . . .

Michael had already left by the time Alisa snapped Uriel out of the endless circle of ifs, maybes, buts, and possiblies.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t too much longer that Uriel, after having to go down to one of the payphones to talk with the same father who refused to buy her her own cell phone, heard Gabriel arguing with one of her newest boy-toys in the hallway, Darius, Duncan or something like that.

“I don’t get it, Gab,” he said, frowning. “Sometimes you’re so nice to her, but sometimes, when you talk to her, it just . . . I’m seriously worried, Gab. I don’t think it’s healthy for you to—”

“To _what?”_ Gabriel screeched, glaring at him with the ferocity and dementia of a Prima Donna denied her “rightful” role as star. “ _What,_ Dorian?! You think I need _help?_ You think _I’m_ nuts like that stupid little _bitch?!_ Well, DO YOU!”

Uriel almost felt sorry for the poor guy. Outside looking in, he seemed nice. She remembered hearing about a Dorian Foster around school, a genuine boy-next door, though, when you’re related to Michael, that takes on an entirely different meaning and is always met with suspicion. He had short, brown hair that was cleanly cut, perfect skin that you only see in movies, and average brown eyes. He was cute to the random passer-by, but not gorgeous as far as Uriel was concerned. The shmuck was wearing a blue sweater over his alarmingly over-priced white shirt and a pair of cargo pants.

Gabriel must have been eating this sad, unsuspecting man alive for weeks.

Still, it seemed like he was trying to get her to calm down, preferably before she made a scene that anyone else could see. “No, Gabs, of course not; I just think you’re a bit obsessed—”

“ _I’m not obsessed with that freak of nature!”_ Gabriel screeched eyes wide and wild. “I’m barely related to the bitch!”

“See,” he cried waving his hand over her form angrily. “ _That_ right there! You rant about how much you love her and try to take care of her, but then you talk about her like _this_!” He sighed, looking at her with a mixture of pity and disgust that made Uriel flinch _for_ Gabriel. “You’re too two-faced for your own good, Gabriel; it’ll come back on you eventually, and who’ll be there to care if you treat your own _family_ like this?” Uriel saw him starting to walk away with the purpose of a man deciding the rest of his fate. “’Cause I certainly won’t.”

And with that, Dorian Foster walked out of the room and, Uriel sincerely hoped for his sake, Gabriel’s life entirely. Gabriel herself wouldn’t handle this well—Uriel couldn’t even recall the last time _she_ had been the one of that end of the broken-up spectrum—but Dorian would fare pretty well considering how liked he seemed to be. His grades in some classes might mysteriously drop without explanation, but that would be it, and, even that couldn’t be too pronounced or obvious.

Gabriel, though, was _livid._ Her face turned a shade of red Uriel hadn’t though a human being could turn, her eyes became as round as the window’s behind her, and Uriel was genuinely surprised not to see smoke coming out of the elder sister’s ears.

Looking at Gabriel, Uriel felt the distinct need to, perhaps, run away. Possibly out of the country

Before Uriel could actually _implement_ said plan to run away, Katy, the bastard bird, swung his head in her direction like he was demonically possessed and _squawked_ with the purpose of a five year old ratting their sibling out for having their hand in the cookie jar. Not even _taking_ a damn cookie, simply having their hand in the jar itself.

“What the _fuck_ do you want, you head-case!” Gabriel wailed, as her voice became several octaves higher than any human’s should be as she began to cry. “Jesus Christ,” she screamed. “You ruin _everything!_ I mean, wasn’t getting us sent here enough—”

Uriel cut her off, her patience snapping. “ _I’m_ not the one who got us stuck here you nitwit,” she growled, the sound mixing with Alexander’s own. “ _You and Raphael_ just _had_ to have that stupid party while Father was gone. I mean, what the hell were you thinking? He was already pissed at you for that shopping spree you had with his credit card, what did you think was going to happen when he and Elizabeth got back?”

“Why do you do that?” Gabriel demanded, her arms crossing as she tried to lift her nose to the sky, an action diminished by how red her eyes had become. “‘Father’? ‘ _Elizabeth’_?” Gabriel scoffed. “They’re our _parents._ ” Uriel saw the sneer cross Gabriel’s face, looking like the cat that caught the canary. “Or are you so drugged up that you forgot?” Gabriel walked around Uriel, looking like something out of a bad Bond parody. “I mean, White _does_ have you on some pretty heavy anti-psychotics. The chemistry behind them must be so complex. I wonder what would happen if you happened to take just a _few_ more than you needed?” Uriel gritted her teeth while Gabriel tilted her head, looking genuinely curious.

Uriel, however, wasn’t taking the bait. Gabriel was an accomplished liar, two faced just like Dorian had said, but, sometimes, Gabriel happened to forget reality and actually believed the tangled web she would weave.

It seemed Uriel would have to remind her.

Uriel smiled calmly at her sister. “Well, I should hope that wouldn’t happen. I mean, who would be there to stop that one video from going viral.” Uriel did an internal dance worthy of a Swan Lake solo as Gabriel paled considerably. “I mean, a video of you trying to drown your own sister comes out just after she mysteriously dies. Can you just _imagine_  the repercussions?”

Gabriel turned a satisfying shade of green as the words sunk in. Uriel couldn’t even stop the almost sadistic smile on her face as Gabriel was reminded of one crucial fact about their family: the only reason Uriel wasn’t in charge was because she didn’t want to be.

“Nicely played bitch,” Gabriel said, heading towards the door with as much dignity and pride as she could muster. “Maybe you _are_ part of the family after all.”

Wrapping what was left of her arrogance around her like a five year old pretending a blanket was a cape, Gabriel glided out of the room, her head held high. The image would have been commendable, something out of a Game of Thrones episode, had it not been for the fact that she’d been thoroughly beaten.

Uriel, left with only her thoughts, put a comforting hand on Alexander, who hadn’t stopped growling even after her sister’s departure. This was her and Gabriel’s game, and, though it was shorter than Raphael’s, it was a family game nonetheless. Allowing others to get involved ruined the effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really was a filler chapter, which I didn't think you could have in books, but a lot of boring stuff needed to happen. There WAS some serious insight into characters, but nothing too exciting since I can't share any of it without giving too much away! URGH!


	9. Devestation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm . . . nope. Not sorry. Not at all.

* * *

 

 

_It’s been a long time coming/ And the table’s turned around/ ‘Cause one of us is going/ One of us is going down/ I’m not running/ It’s a little different now/ ‘Cause one of us is going/ One of us is going down_

-You’re Going Down

Written By Shimon Moore, Anzai ,and  Armato

Made Famous By Sick Puppies

 

* * *

 

Uriel was twitchy all week after that, a mixture of paranoia over the sniper and for Gabriel’s inevitable attempt at retribution causing her to treat every shadow like a threat and every sound like a menace hiding just out of her sight. Thankfully, though, Dorian’s break up had done so much damage to Gabriel’s reputation as “The Loving Girlfriend and Sister” that she’d been too busy running damage control to pay any attention to her younger sister, eventually leaving Uriel to focus on the sniper.

Brisby, Alisa’s mouse familiar, Alexander, and almost all of the other familiars were just as twitchy and overprotective, fallowing their respective masters everywhere they could. Even poor Beauty (Bryn’s horse familiar) would sleep on the ground below their four story window, refusing to move an inch until Bryn came down to relieve her of duty.

Alisa was still greatly shaken by what had happened. Even if she hadn’t particularly _liked_ Tabitha or Natalie, (Uriel was quite sure that _no one_ outside of her family liked Tabitha) it was still the first time Alisa had _seen_ death. It was also the first time _Uriel_ had been the comforting embrace after a terrifying bout of nightmares.

Bryn was still furious—she spent and alarming amount of time in the dorm gym down the stairs with a poor, innocent punching bag that had never done anything to anyone—but, as time went on, she went past that vehemence an reached an obsessive level of over-protection. Not that Alisa or Uriel were complaining; it was nice. The trio had bonded more over those days than they had in a while.

 

* * *

 

Two days before classes were set to start again, Bryn opened the door in reaction to an absurdly loud bout of knocking, only to see a frantic Abby hunched over her knees, trying desperately to catch her breath. “It’s . . . Gabriel,” Abby panted, pointing behind her where Uriel and the others saw students running down the stairs as if Justin Timberlake was outside. “She’s completely . . . lost it. She’s tearing Dorian _apart_ . . . out there.”

Before Abby even finished her explanation, Uriel flew down the stairs at a break-neck speed, not caring if any of her friends fallowed her.

 _What is that idiot thinking?_ Uriel screamed internally Their father had made it _very_ clear when they left that the actions of _one_ child were the actions of _all of them_. Whatever punishment  Gabriel brought on her own foolish self, she brought down on all of her siblings, Uriel included.

Outside, it was just as Abby had described—a battle field of smog, fire, and an inky blackness that seemed to move and slither like a snake in the water. Her sister was, obviously, not pulling any punches, and Dorian, who was just a Necromancer, had nowhere to run and nothing to fight back with.

Michael ran over to Uriel, flagging her down as she tried to peer past the pantheon of people to figure out where Gabriel had hidden herself in the chaos she created. “I sent Garret on ahead to find her,” he said. “She’s over by the History Building and she’s got Dorian pinned behind a generator or something.” The eldest of the McCarthy’s shook his head. “Dad’s going to have a field day over this if he finds out.”

Uriel tried to spot Gabriel’s blonde hair in the mess of smoke and smog. “You assume we’ll live through the shouting match she and Elizabeth will get into,” she answered, giving up on the attempt. “Not that I’m complaining about their lack of involvement, for once, but just where are all the teachers? West should be wetting himself over all the suspensions he could give out right now.”

“Raph’s acting as distraction this time,” Michael responded. “With any luck, we’ll be able to end this _now_ and, hopefully, keep the entire thing quiet.” He looked around at the crowd that had only expanded since they’d begun talking. “If I get these guys out of here, can you handle getting Gabby off of Dorian and under control?”

Uriel looked into the smog pensively. Gabriel was a typical Illusionist, only able to create realistic hallucinations (actually making them real took _way_ more power than she had) that were only ever as real as the viewer thought they were. Sure, sometimes the body automatically reacts to things even if it knows it’s not real, but even _that_ was rare and took a _lot_ of power. Dorian had, probably, forgotten the first rule of dealing with and Illusionist: never treat anything like it was real.

Uriel was sure she’d never be able to forget.

“I’ve got this,” she said eventually, squaring her shoulders as she patted Alexander on his head, reminding him that, like so many places, he couldn’t follow her. “You keep this flock of brainless sheep from spilling. I’m not having my phone privileges taken away when I get back home because Gabriel can’t comprehend the idea of not committing murder in front of so many witnesses.”

Michael sighed. “Can’t you just say that you love your family and want to protect what’s left of Gabby’s dignity?”

“Nope,” she answered, marching into the mayhem. “I don’t like lying when I don’t have to.”

Had Uriel _actually_ loved Gabriel, the elder of the two’s temper tantrum would have been so much more tolerable than it seemed. As Uriel _didn’t_ love her sister, though, it was simply annoying, especially after the first faux fireball had been launched into her face. Like all of Gabriel’s Illusions, it simply went straight through Uriel, not even feeling warm to the touch, just creepy and . . . wrong.

“Throw another one of those at me again, and I’ll actually set _you_ on fire,” she warned, asking for a small wind to blow some of the surrounding smog away, revealing a battered and petrified Dorian hiding behind the generator of the building as a demented Gabriel threw more and more fireballs at the pathetic man.

Gabriel, as per usual, completely ignored her sister in favor of someone else and continued throwing her fit. “You _told_ them!” she screeched, wildly, her voice high and winey. “I can’t believe you told that rat West about me taking them! Do you know how long it took me to get them out of her room without those two _freaks_ she hangs out with noticing? Do you have any _idea_ what would have happened if they found out she wasn’t really taking them this whole time? Do you! God, you’ve ruined _everything!”_

 _Ah,_ Uriel though, _This makes more sense._ Gabriel throwing a fit over a boy? Odd, to say the least. Gabriel throwing a fit over someone ratting her out for hiding Uriel’s meds? Much more normal.

“This obsession is killing you Gabs,” Dorian cried, trying desperately to ignore the shaking of the generator behind him as another fireball was thrown in his direction. “You need some help.”

“Help?” Gabriel cried, stopping for a minute to look at Dorian crazily, her face distorted in an almost hilarious act of pure rage. “I’m _not_ like that _freak_! I don’t need _help!”_ Two new fireballs hit the side of the generator. “ _She’s_ the crazy one! _She’s_ the one on the meds! _She’s_ the one who ruins everything!”

Had this been home, Uriel would have just let the whole thing go. Gabriel’s temper tantrums were nothing special (she threw one almost on a monthly basis) and were almost entertaining to watch when she wasn’t involved. After all, who doesn’t love watching a teen slowly revert to the mindset of a spoiled toddler? It’s what reality TV was created for. But, they weren’t at home, and Gabriel’s actions could have consequences if they weren’t dealt with. Soon.

“Gabriel,” Uriel called. “Stop it, or I swear to God, I will knock you out and drag you through the mud to your dorm by your hair.”

The second the words were out of her mouth, Uriel stood as tall as she could manage, waiting for the barrage of insults and attacks that were bound to come. Now was _not_ the time to play at being weak-willed and let Gabriel think she won. Now was the time to remind Gabriel who Uriel really was.

“What?” Gabriel asked, turning on Uriel with an ire and hate usually reserved for murderers of unicorns and people who talk in the theater. “Am I interrupting some geek Marathon on BBD? Did I make you stop playing Prisons and Potions?” A great Bengal tiger leapt at Uriel and disappeared when she flexed her entire body, forcing it not to flinch despite her nerves argument otherwise. “Were you and those weirdoes swapping stories about some non-existent lives of your stupid shows?”  A large, black snake slithered towards Uriel and she forced herself to pay it no mind at all despite some intense internal screaming. “Or were you fawning over Daemon like some love sick—”

Gabriel was cut off as the branch from a tree reached out and knocked her off her feet with what can only be described as a bitch slap. Uriel looked down at her sister as one would look at a piece of filth on one’s shoe after one had decided to wear their least-favorite pair of sneakers. “First of all, the Sherlock marathon is on _BBC_ tomorrow—” several vine-like tendrils of mud wrapped around Gabriel as she tried to get up. “—second of all, _Dungeons and Dragons_ is on Wednesdays—” the mud hardened into almost pure stone after squeezing the air out of a writhing Gabriel on the ground. “—third of all, you’re thinking of _fanfiction_ , and that’s on Fridays, and, finally—” Uriel bent down very carefully to get right above Gabriel’s face, “—never, _ever_ , do you bring Daemon into your hissy fits.”

With that, Uriel brought her elbow down onto her sister’s nose breaking it soundly and knocking her out.

“Thank you,” Dorian said, climbing from behind the generator. “I was . . . caught there for a bit.”

Not even sparing him a glimpse, Uriel began dragging Gabriel towards her sister’s dorm which had its own infirmary, making sure to hit as much mud as she could, by the blonde’s hair. “Next time,” she said, not looking back. “Just write her a Dear John letter, kay?”

“I know,” he said. “I owe you.”

Yes, yes he did. Especially if Uriel’s interpretation of “containing the situation” threw Raphael into his own tizzy over the whole thing.

 

* * *

 

Just as Uriel predicted, by the time Bryn, Abby, and Alisa found the four siblings, things had exploded more than before. Even by McCarthy standards.

“God, you are such a spoiled, little brat,” Raphael roared at Uriel, pushing her backwards only for Michael to steady her again. “You try and make everyone feel sorry for you because you’re fucking nuts—”

“Stop it, Raph,” Michael ordered, stepping between the two. “You know she doesn’t like cussing, okay? No one does. It’s just you and—”

“Oh, shut up Michael,” Gabriel grumbled. “She’s just trying to screw up everything, like she always does! It’d be better if she would just—”

Uriel hadn't even stopped to think about it before she lunged around Michael, slapping Gabriel, open palmed with a look of fury on his face. "Shut your mouth you little nitwit or I’ll sew it shut," she warned her voice low and cold. "You're the one making the fool out of all of us. _I’ve_ been smart enough to keep my head down since you two bimbos-" she swung an accusing finger between Gabriel and Raphael "- got us dropped off here for some _stupid party_."

Gabriel leapt for Uriel, flingers like claws and ready to kill. Uriel dodged; leaving Gabriel to ram into poor Alisa, knocking the unsuspecting girl over. Not realizing for a second that she had completely missed her intended target, Gabriel lifter her arm to throw a punch on Alisa, who, in a haze, was still trying to figure out just how it was that _she_ came to be the one on the ground as opposed to Uriel.

Bryn, thankfully, wasn’t as confused and quickly yanked the tiny blond off of her friend, wrapping her arms around the older girl’s waist and swinging in a circle before releasing Gabriel’s writhing form, allowing her to slide to the floor beside them. Once she was sure that Gabriel was too shocked to attempt another attack, she quickly pulled Alisa behind her, forming a protective shield in front of the smaller student.

Uriel saw Michael and Raphael arguing behind her, Abby almost crying for everyone to please, _please,_ stop fighting as she held Gabriel back, and Bryn warning Gabriel off with little success. Then, in an adrenaline-fueled daze, Uriel saw a small, red dot, right on Gabriel’s head.

“Gabriel,” she called, running fanatically towards her sister. “Move!”

Brought out of their own argument—over what, Uriel had no clue—Michael and Raphael quickly spotted the same blood red dot of light shaking on the back of their sister’s head. “Gabby! Come here!” Michael called, waving madly to no avail, as his twin was still too busy shouting angrily at Bryn.

“Damn it, Gabby,” Raphael called, trying desperately to get his sister’s attention. “Get over here _now_!”

She didn’t though. She just stayed in place, thrashing against Abby as she screamed and shrieked like a harpy. In the confusion, Abby’s grip on Gabriel loosened just enough for her to break free, running towards Uriel with pure wrath warping her face, completely oblivious to the death mark on her skull.

Before she could reach her goal, though, a single shot rang through the almost empty hallway, fallowed closely by the most sickening thud Uriel had ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit, I was running out of random names for random victims. That, and I think there's only so many deaths a school can have before they completely shut down, and I think I'm reaching that limit soon (-.-)


	10. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry. I'm not. I refuse to be sorry about this.

I’m coming home/ I’m coming home/ Tell the world/ I’m coming home/ Let the rain/ Wash away/ All the pain of yesterday/ I know my kingdom awaits/ And they’ve forgiven my mistakes/ I’m coming home/ I’m coming home/ Tell the world I’m coming

-Coming Home Part II

Written By Sean Combs, Shawn Carter, Jermaine Cole, Alexander Grant, and Holly Hafferman

 

Made Famous By Skyler Grey 

* * *

 

For several nauseating seconds, Uriel saw a completely random combination of red and black, splashed across her vision like some appalling modern art piece. She could _hear_ Alisa sobbing uncontrollably, completely inconsolable. She could _smell_ the overwhelming sent of blood in the air. She could _feel_ Michael’s hand gently pulling on her arm, shaking her as he tried to bring her back to herself. But, for all of that, she couldn’t _see_ a thing.

Even as she dropped to the floor, cradling the other girl’s slowly dying body, her eyes almost refused to register the horrific sight before her. It wasn’t until she heard that voice, that sad, broken voice, cracked and weak with seemingly no purpose, yet so much _will_ that she saw clearly _._

_“I promised Mom . . . I promised I’d come home safe.”_

With that, Uriel’s brain snapped itself straight back into the moment, her eyes focusing on the blood-ridden body on the ground just in time to see Abigail Lee’s head roll to the side, the brown eyes now cold and lifeless as she seemed to stare into space. It was almost as if she was contemplating a new book she had finally finished or an essay she was preparing for, as if a tap on the shoulder would bring her back to herself. She would laugh nervously (because, despite what the teachers said, she really is dreadfully shy) and apologize, giving some completely unbelievable lie before distracting everyone with some random fact she learned over break.

“Abby,” Uriel called, shaking the girl in her arms. “Come on Abby,” she said, shaking harder now. “Get up. Get up, Abby.” Despite her call, the still-warm cadaver stayed lifeless. “Damn it Abby,” Uriel cried, paying no mind to the others who were dealing with their own shock in their own way. “You get up right now, Abigail Lee! You are _not_ dying for this! Not for her!”

Uriel pressed her hand to the wound in her oldest friend’s stomach (gained from tackling Gabriel to the ground to save the completely ignorant girl) in a veiled attempt to stop the bleeding that was as pointless as her earlier cries. The red flow defiantly slipped through Uriel’s already blood-stained fingers, spreading down her arms and across the bottom of her shirt as she continued to cry out uselessly for some sort of reaction.

“Uri,” Michael called to her, his voice thousands of miles away, despite the fact that his hands were on her shoulders as he tried to pull her up and away from Abby. “Uri, she’s gone.” He pulled again, but Uriel stayed where she was, now crying silently and trying valiantly not to sob on her friend’s carcass. “I’m sorry, Uri. I’m so sorry, but you can’t keep her here like that.”

His words barely registering to her mind and, on an almost subconscious level, Uriel _almost_ let it go. She _almost_ saw the reason in Michael’s completely valid words and walked away. She _almost_ did the reasonable thing, like she always tried to do, but then she heard it—a shrill, loud voice, breaking her shock-induced calm like a ten-year-old canon balling in a pool.

“Who the _hell_ is that?”

Suddenly, Uriel’s world—and her patience—snapped like a rubber band pulled far too tight for far too long. Dropping Abby’s body in pure indignation, Uriel turned on her heel to face Gabriel, who looked down at the cooling body of her savior with a mixture of the same disgust and repulsion that had been dripping from her voice seconds before. This . . . ungrateful . . . _brat_ had just had another being give their life so that she could live. One of the greatest Human beings Uriel had ever known had just _died_ so that this meaningless piece of _filth_ could continue a pointless existence of drugs, alcohol, parties, and just sheer _uselessness_. Rage did not even begin to cover it.

“That,” Uriel growled, turning to the blonde with an almost palpable darkness surrounding her, “is the girl who saved your _ungrateful ass you little shit!”_

Everyone froze. It had been _years_ since Uriel had let even the smallest of curses slip from her lips. Did she think of them? More often than anyone would have guessed by looking or talking to her, but never, ever, did she even _think_ to speak any of them out loud.

“S-So?” Gabriel asked, acutely aware that _something_ very dangerous had just broken in Uriel that she never saw before, but still desperate to keep some semblance of face.

“So?” Uriel choked, shoving Michael’s hand off of her as she stomped over to the glorified waste of space in front of her. **_“SO?”_** The fist went flying before anyone saw it, and, in seconds, Uriel was on top of Gabriel, murder in her eyes and loss in her voice. “She died for you!” Uriel _screamed,_ pain and regret making the words more difficult to get out than they should have been. “She died for _you_.”

“Uriel,” Bryn cried, pulling her friend off and back with gentleness she had forgone with Gabriel earlier. “Uriel, please calm down.”

As Uriel thrashed against her friend, trying not to hurt Bryn in her, probably sincere, quest to kill her Gabriel, the older girl began screeching and howling like the banshee she was. “She tried to kill me!” she called, pointing an accusing finger at Uriel’s figure as Raphael helped her back onto her unsteady feet. “You all saw it! That complete and total nut-job tried to kill me! She’s a murderer!”

“I guess in runs in the _fucking_ family,” Uriel screeched, claws out as she reached for Gabriel magically and ruthlessly ripped all the air from her lungs.

Suddenly, Gabriel turned pale and began clawing vainly at her chest, her mouth opening and closing rapidly in a desperate attempt to gain _some_ air. It was like watching some poor soul drown on dry land, shaking and crying in a silent scream of pain. Michael dropped to her side, clutching her tightly in an attempt to keep her calm

“Stop it,” Raphael called as he huddled over twins trying to comfort Gabriel as well. “Damn it, you little bitch, stop it now!”

But Uriel couldn’t. Even if she wanted to, and she wasn’t sure if she did. She couldn’t even _remember_ how. Her eyes were glazed over, the image of Abby falling, bloody, to the ground replaying like a torturous broken record. She could hear everything. The earth was _screaming_. The fires were _howling_. The water was _sobbing_. The metals were _crying_. And the wind demanded _blood_.

**_ “ENOUGH!” _ **

At the sound of the easily recognizable voice, everything and everyone stopped, including Uriel’s internal diatribe. As Gabriel lay on the ground, gasping at the breath she could finally have, Abernathy waltzed over to the sextet, a furious stomp to her normally graceful steps. “What in the name of all that is good and holy is _wrong_ with you lot! For heaven’s sake, Uriel, I expect this of the others, but you—” her tirade was cut off suddenly as she finally saw Abby’s bloody body on the ground. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice small and hurt as she stared sadly at the body on the ground. “Oh, no.” She looked at Abby with a sad guilt in her eyes. “Not another.”

Abernathy looked around, taking in the sad, mourning faces of her students, her favorite trio in decades huddled together, all fighting violently not to cry, though it was obvious from their red eyes and scratched voices that there had been no success on that front, Uriel more than anyone else.

“McCarthy,” Abernathy called, catching the attention of all four siblings. “I want you all in my office, now.” She nodded to Uriel sadly. “You . . . can clean up beforehand.” Turning to Bryn and Alisa, “You two go wait in your room. Uriel will be there shortly.

The two nodded in concession, too shocked and mournful to be anything other than complacent with the older woman’s wishes.

“What about Abby?” Uriel asked, her eyes falling back on the crumpled form on the floor. Her friend deserved better than to just be left on the floor like some candy wrapper.

Abernathy smiled comfortingly, despite how forced it seemed or how much sadness seemed to hide behind it. “The Concilium will be sending their own police out soon. It is time we dealt with this mortal man _our way.”_ An almost terrifying fire flashed behind Abernathy’s eyes. “Until then, Hinningbottom will stay with her.” The vice principal mentioned nodded sadly at the teens as they stumbled down the hall, none of whom were the least bit comforted that the magical community’s version of the police would be handling their friend’s death. They would be three murders late in the game and would, probably, lose him in their attempt to play catch up, no matter how much effort they put into it, magically or otherwise.

 

* * *

 

“Normally,” Abernathy said, taking her seat at her desk as the four siblings sat in front of it. “I would rake each of you over the coals for that display out there, _especially_ you.” At this, she pointed a pen at Uriel, who, now that she had had time to calm down and clean up, with only a small mental break down hindering her, hung her head in embarrassment and shame at her complete and utter loss of control earlier. She’d thrown a fit, a glorified outburst, and would be working to make up for that fault for a long while to come. “There are people banking on you slipping up child. There are too many people relying on you for you to give them the excuses they’re looking for.”

“Yes ma’am,” Uriel said quietly, nodding her head without even looking up to what she was sure would be the most disapproving look she ever would see in her life.

“And you—” she pointed the same pen at Michael, “—are supposed to be the oldest! The defender! The responsible one!” She leaned in to get a good look. “You’ve got a weight on your shoulders, and no one’s going to help take it off. It may be completely impossible to keep any kind of control over this lot, but I would appreciate seeing some _semblance_ of an effort on your part if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Yes ma’am,” Michael answered, taking the criticism with a self-deprecating scowl and a head held high.

“As for you two—” she swung her pen between Gabriel and Raphael, “—the list is endless. You—” she pointed to Gabriel “—need to get over yourself. Your job here is not to lead this school. That’s mine. You’re a guide. Nothing more. And you—” she switched to Raphael, “—are not her body guard.” She stopped solemnly for a moment before continuing. “You can’t protect her from what has already been done.” Raphael flinched. She gave the two a hard stare, watching them squirm in their seats until an almost silent “Yes ma’am” could be heard from both. “Now go back to your dorms.”

Nodding respectfully with a sincere hope to never repeat the scene, the four began heading out.

“Uriel,” Abernathy called, motioning for her to stay as the others left. “I think you know _exactly_ what I’m about to say, but someone still needs to say it.”

Absolutely sure that she did, Uriel bowed her head once again. “I’m honestly sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Abernathy sighed, rubbing her temples heavily. “I’m not upset about the tantrum you threw back there,” she said, making Uriel flinch at the word she often only used in context with her family as she wished she could curl into herself to avoid the sheer _indignity_ of her own actions. “You’re a child. It’s to be expected.” She shook her head. “No, my dear, this is about you thinking you’re going to sneak out and find this sniper.”

Uriel looked back up at Abernathy, trying to cover her shock that the principal had known what she was planning even before she’d been able to pitch the idea to Bryn or Alisa.

Seeing Uriel struggling not to react, Abernathy fought back a bitter laugh. “I haven’t been dealing with children as long as I have only to be fooled so easily. Your friend is dead; it’s become more personal than the others.” She looked at Uriel from the top of the frames of her glasses. “You want vengeance. It’s something _ingrained_ in the core all of us.” The knowing smile faded into a somber grimace. “Just don’t let that vengeance turn you into something worse than what you hate. Everyone becomes who they are for a reason. Do you honestly think that this sniper is any different?” Uriel stood straight, her attention caught. “If you hunt this man down, do you _honestly_ think that you’re ready to hear what he has to say?”

Uriel paused, mulling the idea and its core around in her head as she tried to come up with an honest answer, knowing that Abernathy deserved one.

“Abby was my oldest friend,” Uriel said. “Older than Bryn, or Alisa, or even _Daemon.”_ Her voice choked on a combination of nostalgia and defeat. “He _killed_ her. Didn’t even have the dignity to look her in the eyes when he did it. Just shot her in the gut like some kind of wild animal during Open Season.” She shook her head angrily. “If I find him, and whoever’s helping him, it’ll take more than some sob story to make up for what he did.”

Abernathy frowned. “Careful, child. I’ve heard a similar speech before.” She sighed before rubbing the bridge of her nose furiously. “Your father made it years ago over something quite similar.” Uriel’s eyes widened at the mention of her father. “And, believe me, he held up his oath. Just not in the way that anyone thought he would. Especially not in any way that _she_ would approve of.”

With that, Abernathy ushered Uriel out of her office, leaving the fourteen-year-old to her own thoughts as she made her way back to her room, where she was sure Bryn and Alisa would be waiting for her before making a decision.

So her father had made a promise like that? Uriel found it hard to believe, seeing as she wasn’t sure the man was capable about caring for _anything_ enough to make a promise with that much weight. Could he _hate_ something enough? Sure. Uriel was sure, most of the time, that he hated her to his core, but could he have loved something so much that he would swear vengeance for them?

There was no way a man like her father was able to care like that.

He didn’t even like his wife.

Or his children.

Or his job.

Uriel wasn’t sure if the man liked anything at all, let alone any _one_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See why I refused to be sorry? I cried enough while writing this, believe me. My teachers got worried. Now, before anyone who actually LIKED Abby gets mad at me, this is not my fault. Originally, the only times Abby showed up was with West and the tennis court. That was it. Everything else was done by minor characters who weren't even going to be that important for another few books, but Bryn's real-life counterpart said "Hey, why don't you flesh her out a little bit, get people to like her?" 
> 
> Yes, she knew how this was going to end. Yes, we cackled like maniacs when we decided this because I am incredibly sad to see Abby die. I really am. And I was sad when I decided to kill her off, but it had to be done for reasons. Gabriel was never going to die in this chapter, tough it was both suggested and considered. She's got a lot waiting for her, and I need her alive. For now.


	11. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting to the end stretch here, and I am sorry about this chapter. I realize that I did something with this that a lot of really good, but frustrating mystery novels that I read do: didn't really give clues to who did it. I really didn't, but it's kind of hard to give clues to this guy. Other than little hints. First of all, Uriel was trying VERY hard to keep out of this. Like VERY. So she didn't really gather evidence, and anything that Daemon or Bryn learned and shared with her was pretty minor and happened off-page. URGH! I WILL DO BETTER!

* * *

 

 

_I’m an angel with a shotgun/ Fighting ‘til the war’s one/ I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back/ I’ll throw away my faith babe/ Just to keep you safe/ Don’t you know you’re everything I have/ And I wanna live not just survive/ Tonight_

-Angel With a Shotgun

Written By Evan Taubenfeld

Made Famous By The Cab

 

* * *

 

“Let me guess,” Bryn said as Uriel walked in the door to their dorm. “No more nice girls?”

Uriel nodded.

And that was it. No accusations on who was right or wrong, no fingers pointed, or any blame thrown around. Both girls knew that their original argument as to their actions over the sniper was utterly pointless at this stage, and Abby would hardly have approved of them hashing it out again.

“How are we supposed to find him?” Alisa asked, tying the white laces on her black converse as a thunder storm began to rage outside their window. “The cops haven’t gotten _anywhere_ with this guy and they’ve been working on this for over a month now.”

Uriel frowned, slipping her black and purple windbreaker on and zipping it as far as she could in an attempt to keep out as much rain as she could. “I think that might be the problem,” she said carefully, fully acknowledging that this situation was about as procedural-crime-show-clichéd as she could get. “A high-profile case like this? It’s been marked as major even to those who _don’t_ know everything about Larum. Those guys should have been willing to shoot one another over the details, but, the way Shancoe’s been treating it, you’d think the entire team had been demoted to traffic cops, and this is just giving a teenager a ticket.”

Bryn tilted her head, looking at Uriel carefully before shaking her head thoughtfully. “You think he’s on the take?” she asked, confused. “No way. Daemon and I checked up on him as best as we could. He’s clean. A little new, maybe, but clean. No odd purchases, no gambling debts, no irregularities in his finances.” She shrugged. “From everything _I’ve_ seen, the guy’s spotless. Lazy – I’ll give you, but not dirty.”

“Doesn’t mean there’s not something off going on.”

All three girls turned to see Daemon waving at them from the window, a knowingly sad smile on his face as he focused in on Uriel, taking in her more-haggard-than-usual appearance. She hadn’t bothered pulling her hair back, so it was flying in all directions, and her eyes, already puffy from a lack of sleep, were red and angry. Worst of all, she was sure that, no matter how thorough she was with her scrubbing, he could still smell Abby’s blood on her.

Realizing that her best friend was trapped outside, on the fourth floor, in the rain, Uriel ran over to let a soaking Daemon and an incredibly irate Edgar in. “I heard about Abby,” he said, not even bothering to look at the other two girls in the room, his attention focused on Uriel, searching for signs on another attack on her fragile psyche. “I’m . . . sorry doesn’t seem to cover it.”

“No,” Uriel acknowledged, looking down. “It never reall does, does it?”

Daemon put a comforting hand on Uriel’s shoulder before pulling her into a tight hug. He felt her tense, as she always did when someone so much as _tried_ to hug her without asking first, before she eventually relaxed into the embrace, burying her face into his all-too-familiar shoulder in an attempt to stay calm. She cried enough for today. Now was the time to be angry, not depressed. There would be time pleanty for that later.

Daemon, knowing exactly how far down that dark, scary road Uriel’s thought were going, began to gently, so no one watching could notice, rock her in a tiny, clockwise circle, rubbing her back just between her shoulders in time with their bodies. Uriel fallowed, allowing the old, comforting presence of her _friend_ (contrary to Bryn and Alisa’s beliefs) to calm her down bit by bit.

The moment, sadly, was ruined with an exceptionally loud and not at all subtle clearing of Bryn’s throat. The two turned, finally remembering that, oh, there were two other people in the room who were already convinced that they were secretly dating. Bryn just stood there, a knowing and unhappy scowl on her face that boded nothing but long talks full of denials in Uriel’s future, while Alisa, the little traitor, just giggled and smiled hugely, her white teeth beaming in the darkness of their room.

“As much as I _love_ watching this real-life OTP becoming cannon right before my eyes,” Bryn said sarcastically, making her way towards the window, “Your love fest will have to wait until later if we want to get to the evidence locker before the bulk of the night watch get there.” That said, Bryn climbed out into the roof, and, through the rain, began to carefully shimmy her way down one of the pipes.

“I _totally_ ship it,” Alisa said, to them, giving them a thumbs up before she more clumsily gave her best attempt at following in Bryn’s footsteps, giving Uriel several minor heart-attacks when her footing slipped, and one major one to Bryn as she fell from the second floor, only being saved as Uriel called up an obscene amount of wind to at least _break_ her friend’s fall. Onto Bryn.

“OTP?” Daemon asked Uriel as she shimmied down the same pipe as her friends, Daemon having insisted on going below her so he could help if she fell ( _“What,” Alisa and Bryn would ask later, “He couldn’t extend that to the girl who_ actually _fell?”_ ). “Ship?”

Uriel blushed an almost impossible shade of red as her brain automatically translated the two— Original True Pairing and liking the idea of two people together—and she simply ordered: “Don’t ask.”

After years of hearing “Fadom” as the girls (and the rest of the internet, but he didn’t care enough to check) called it, and, even worse, having it explained to him by Alisa (who had surprised him in so many ways it wasn’t even remotely funny) that day, Daemon nodded obediently and showed them the way to his car, almost terrified of the conversation he _knew_ Uriel was going to be forced into later.

The four of them climbed in, Daemon (being the only one who actually _could_ drive) took the wheel, leaving Alisa and Uriel to argue over who got shotgun. Alisa, the selfishly ungrateful little traitor, won, forcing Uriel to concede to actually sit in the front.

“Daemon,” Uriel started eventually, “You were saying something earlier about Shancoe?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking them down the long, muddy road out of the school grounds. The night guard at the gate, recognizing Daemon’s car, let him through (who was going to stop a 400 year old man from leaving campus?).

“Well,” Bryn said, her impatience beginning to show now that she was stuck in, to quote her, a giant metal death-trap. “What did your guys find out that mine didn’t?”

Daemon, used to Bryn’s crankiness in cars, took her tone in stride. “Shancoe’s got a reputation for being lazy and cliché, even by TV standards. The only reason he even got this far is because BPD is _disturbingly_ understaffed these days, more than ever before. Usually, he’s only put on the cut and dry cases. Big cases like this, ones that require actual work, always go to my man, O'Loughlin.”

“Let me guess,” Alisa said, leaning forward so that he face was right next to Uriel’s, causing Bryn to squeal for her to get back in her damn seat, “Since we’ve stepped into a _very_ tacky episode of NCIS, he conveniently retired just before the first shooting after gaining some questionable windfall?”

“Nope,” Daemon said smugly. “He’s still working. Knowing that bastard, he’s probably going to be working ’til he’s in a wheelchair.” He looked at Alisa in the mirror. “He did, however, get moved to a string of bank robberies out of town that started _two_ _weeks_ before Tabitha bit it.” Uriel punched him on the shoulder for his wording making Bryn squeak as the car jerked in reaction to his momentary loss of control. It would have been funnier before, but, now that Abby was gone . . . it just wasn’t funny anymore.

 

* * *

 

“Bryn,” Daemon said as the four snuck around the building, their movements hidden by a black smoke Alisa had created over the security cameras’ lenses. “Do I even want to know why you and the saint of _lock picks_ are on such good terms all of a sudden?” he raised his eyebrow. “He doesn’t like _anyone_.”

“What?” Bryn smirked, “Baldomerus practically raised me. Along with Loki.” As she spoke, a smiling old man who seemed suspiciously translucent (if his ancient priest garb wasn’t inconspicuous enough), lightly touched the lock on the back door to the police evidence locker that Daemon, in a ‘Uriel has been hurt and I am not pleased’ rage, had found was where they were keeping the evidence from the sniper case.

With quiet breath, all four watched the door begin to open with an almost silent click, no evidence of tampering left in the least. With a final, bright smile at Bryn and an almost fatherly pat on her head, the old man disappeared from their sight, his deed finished.

“Why am I not surprised that _you’re_ his favorite?” Alisa groaned, smiling fondly. There was a sadness behind their banter, a lack of shine to their smiles as they all silently acknowledged that that, no question, was something Abby would have asked.

Silently, Alisa and Daemon sent Brisby and Edgar out to check and see how many guard were inside. The wait was hard for them, and even harder for Bryn and Uriel, who had been forced to leave Alexander and Beauty back at the dorms due to their size, and neither masters nor familiars pleased.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the mouse and raven returned. Edgar pecked Daemon’s head three times, each hard enough to have, probably, knocked any Human man out. “Ow,” he complained, waving his hands to ward off his familiar before Edgar simply took his favorite post: on Uriel’s shoulder. “I said tap my shoulder, you daft bird,” he practically yelled, his London accent slipping through in his anger as a testament to his growing irritation with the whole situation. “Not pierce my bloody skull!”

“Shh,” Bryn and Uriel ordered, turning to Alisa, who had taken out her sketch book, their plan running through her mind. Her hand flew across the page, the pen in her hand leaving a series of dark lines on the paper before she hastily shaded the whole thing, not at all pleased with the outcome, but knowing she didn’t have time to complain.

“Good enough?” she asked, showing them the sketch of a shadow-like figure seeming to be running around a shelf. It was hardly her best work (she could have done so much better with a damn pencil instead of some random pen from a convention she didn’t even go to), but, once brought to life, it would be good enough to keep the guards busy.

“Perfect,” Bryn said, knowing it wasn’t, but not about to point it out since everyone knew Alisa already knew.

The watched in a kind of muted awe as the figure seemed to slide off the page like the shadow he was meant to be before falling to the floor, only to grow and stand. Knowing his purpose in existence, he began running in the direction they knew the guard to be in.

“How much time did you just buy us?” Uriel asked, waiting until she heard the clichéd “Stop!” from the guards before making her way down the aisles.

Alisa smiled, pride filling her voice. “As much as we need.”

“It’s this one,” Daemon said, pulling a box down from a shelf just high enough that none of the girls would have been able to get it. Stupid, tall vampire. “Jesus,” he said, oblivious to the glares of short people behind him. “Did they take _any_ evidence from _anywhere?”_

Evidently (pun not intended) they did, but the amount was laughable. Bryn was right that first day. Even the four of them could have done better than this pathetic mess of routine evidence taking. The bullets (only the ones recovered from the bodies, none of the extras), casings, a ton of pictures of scenes that the trio had already subconsciously memorized, and some random samples that were “inconclusive” were all the quartet were able to find in the tiny box.

“Something’s weird about these bullets,” Bryn said, squinting at one in the harsh light above them. “What are they made of?”

Silently, Uriel took another bullet from the box and held it in her hand, listening carefully to words that only she and Daemon could hear. “The usual suspects,” she answered eventually, a confused look not matching her words. “Iron, steel, tiny bit of copper, but the powder around it,” she frowned. “Residue isn’t always right, but this is weird.”

Alisa tilted her head. “We just broke into a police evidence locker thanks to the ghost of a dead saint, to blatantly compromise evidence, as we look for a professional sniper who killed our friend at the magic school we go to for Humans, Fae, Vampires, and everything in between,” she pointed out, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re going to have to define ‘weird’ at this point, Uri, cause I’m not sure if that word is even in my vocabulary anymore.”

Uriel’s frown deepened as she double checked her answer on both bullets, not liking the answer. “Weird as in a basic gun powder mixed with gallium, tantalum, sodium, and—here’s the epitome of the weird— _uranium_.”

“Uranium?” Daemon asked, his face scrunched as he took the bullet to double check and the girls began whipping everything down. “That’s not exactly easy to find, and have any of you even heard of the other two? Galilium and trantulum?”

“Gallium and tantalum,” Uriel corrected automatically as she handed the box to Daemon, not even trying to put it back on the high shelf herself. “Which, I’m willing to bet, are Ga and Ta on the periodic table.” The four began to move towards the still-open back door as one, worried looks on all their faces. “Anyone get the connection?”

“Gabriel and Tabitha,” Alisa said, her voice breathy and fearful. Not even looking up, Bryn handed her friend the inhaler she’d had the forethought to grab on their way out. No need for her to pass out.

“And sodium for Natalie,” Bryn growled, so angry at the turn of events that she wasn’t even able to panic over Daemon’s less-than-safe driving on the wet road.

The car was quiet then. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that comes with knowing something big, but not wanting to talk about it like an elephant in the room. Eventually, they reached the parking lot, not surprised that the night watchman had left, and Uriel couldn’t take it anymore.

“Gallium for Gabriel, tantalum for Tabitha, sodium for Natalie,” she took a breath, not looking at anyone. “And uranium for me.” She didn’t look up, her brain going through her compartmentalization process. A shrink would call it “denial”, but it still worked. Meanwhile, her friends went through their own barrage of emotions as they were forced to acknowledge their new-found clues.

Alisa, still swimming in her memories of bodies, both old a new, looked small and lost, even as Brisby nudged her lovingly, trying to get his master to return to reality before something bad happened. He didn’t like it when she got this way.

Bryn wasn’t doing too much better, taking Beauty’s neck and burying herself in the braided mane. Uriel had too much going on, she shouldn’t have to deal with Bryn’s melt down on top of it all.

Daemon, though, Daemon didn’t bother hiding his rage and fury. It shook every inch of his body and made speech practically impossible. His face warped into a seething, beastial look that Uriel only ever saw seconds before someone (usually a would-be kidnapper) wound up splattered against the wall.

And Uriel—furious, mourning, _guilty_ Uriel—stared at the ground, the image of the bullets dancing in her vision like clumsy three-year olds, falling off and on the stage, and an inhuman serenity fell over her. This man wanted her dead. Her, not her friends. That gave her a modicum of relief that, should she fail, at least Bryn and Alisa would be spared. Knowing full well that his master was not handling this as well as she was pretending to, Alexander rubbed his face against her belly, not sure of any other kind of comfort to bring her back to herself.

“Come on,” she said eventually, calling the attention of her friends back to her. “We’d better get back to the dorms before West finds us out here and tries to suspend us all.” Reminded of his recent demotion, Uriel smiled. “If he can that is.” Yes, that was right. Sarcasm was the way to deal with this. Sarcasm came easily and required no effort around her friends. She could do sarcasm.

“Uriel—” Alisa started, but Uriel cut her off, not wanting to go into this conversation at all, let alone in the school parking lot at Sweet-Mary-Mother-Of-God-Jesus-Christ-On-A-Pale-White-Cracker-O-Clock.

“He went after Gabriel first,” she said, her brain forcing her to rationalize quickly so that, night terrors or no night terrors, she could crawl into her fandom bed, wrap herself in her tumblr blanket, and stare at Cecil Baldwin and Carlos until everything was alright. “He wants _her_ before me. That gives us some time.”

Yes, that gave her time. Lots of time. Time to find a good spot in the woods to bury this bastard. Time to find something nice and dull to beat him to death with. Time to make sure that son of a bitch suffered just as much, if not more, than the friends and family he’d left behind to mourn his victims.

As Uriel contemplated just how much time she would have, she and her friends were brought out of their thoughts by a voice at the other end of the aisle of cars.

“How very machiavellian of you, Ms. McCarthy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did good with that cliffy, no?


	12. Provocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm sorry for the total lack of foreshadowing here. Really. I explain some MINOR things, but there was no way anyone was going to know what was going to happen or what was going on from what I gave you guys. Sorry!

* * *

 

 

_God I want to dream again/ Take me where I’ve never been/ I wanna go there/ This time I’m not scared/ Now I am unbreakable/ It’s unmistakable/ No one can touch me/ Nothing can stop me_

-Unbreakable

Written By Dawn Michele and Rob Hawkins

Made Famous By Fireflight

 

* * *

 

He’d given them a clear view of him, point blank in range. Daemon and Bryn moved to stand in front of Uriel, but she quickly pushed them out of the way with a strength they were surprised she had. _I won’t let them end up like Abby,_ Uriel convinced herself, staring the man in front of her down.

Uriel wished she could place him somewhere, that she could pinpoint the exact moment she’d first seen that thin, graying hair, those sad, broken blue eyes, or that monstrous face, distorted by age and hate. He couldn’t have been more than forty, but his eyes looked so much older. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t like him knowing her or vice versa would make everything better, but she tried anyways.

“Don’t bother trying to remember me,” he told her, his voice deep and angry. “You couldn’t have been more than three when I met you.”

Uriel bit the inside of her bottom lip, trying not to show any emotion. “I highly doubt anything I did at _three_ warranted you putting a bullet in my head,” she said, fighting to hold his gaze without flinching. No. She wasn’t afraid of him. She couldn’t afford to be afraid of him.

“It’s not what you _did_ girl,” he said, taking a small step towards her, “It’s what you’ll _do_.” With that, he raised a gun to point right at her, causing Bryn, Daemon, and all the familiars around them to move in a flurry of protective instincts, only to find their feet bound tightly to the floor by Uriel’s Casting.

Every eye was on Uriel, Bryn disapproving and Daemon just angry. “I wouldn’t be so quick to help her if I were you,” the man warned, frowning contemptuously at Bryn and Daemon, not even acknowledging the familiars. “I’ve got no issue with any of you.”

“Just like you had no issue with Abby?” Bryn hissed, jerking her body wildly to free herself.

“That . . .” he took a moment to swallow loudly, guilt and regret plainly on his face, for all the good that it did. “It wasn’t her problem. She shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

Bryn scoffed angrily, a fire lit in her now. “Well, you made it _my_ problem when you shot my friend in the gut. Over what?” she called at him accusingly, authority in her voice. “What was worth three lives to you? _What the fuck was worth Abby’s life!”_

“They’re all just monsters!” The man cried, obviously trying not to focus too much on Bryn, but failing miserably in the attempt.

Everyone froze as he began to ramble furiously. “They were monsters, born from monsters. Just like her—” he shook his gun in Uriel’s direction, much to the panic of Bryn. “—and just like her sister.” He sounded insane, like someone out of a horror film when you find out the terrible monster that everyone was sure was magically-induced was simply a human man with so many issues.

“I’ve got to cut them out,” he rationalized, taking another step towards Uriel, causing Daemon to thrash against his binds. “It’s like weeding a garden.”

Daemon practically had smoke coming out of his ears at this point. The entirety of his eyes had turned an obsidian black and his lips were curled back to show a set of elongated, vampiric fangs. Everyone who knew the true Vampires who existed knew that this face was always there, hidden below the beauty and the calm, regal façade, but Daemon had worked so hard to make sure Uriel never had to actually see this side of him.

“You’re not going to touch her,” Daemon told the man, his voice dark and foreboding, his London accent more pronounced than Uriel had ever heard. “I’ll rip your heart out of its cage first.”

Hearing the stone binding his feet beginning to crack, Uriel added five more layers, desperate to keep him there. Thankfully, Daemon’s Tantra was more spell-based, so there wasn’t much he could do.

“It has to be done,” the man said, completely oblivious to how close he was to dying. The hand that was holding the gun was shaking so badly, Uriel was surprised it hadn’t fallen out of his hands. “It has to be—”

“Are you going to shoot me or not?” Uriel asked finally, surprising everyone, including herself. Crud. She wasn’t this brave; she couldn’t keep up this façade for too long. Then again, it wasn’t like she had many other options, so, calling on every Criminal Minds episode she could think of, she forced herself on.

“What?” she asked. “I don’t think he _can_.” She flipped her hair behind her, face full of faux arrogance, elegance, and indignation. “Snipping teenage girls long distance? That’s a coward if I’ve ever heard of one.” For the first time since the man had made his appearance, _Uriel_ was the one who took two steps closer, forcing herself not to back down. “Shooting me point-blank, looking me right in the eye?” She sneered at him, calling on every experience with Elizabeth and Gabriel. “He hasn’t got the balls.”

“No argument from me.”

The man spun around at the sound of the new voice, gun poised to fire at the intruder only to pause in a horror-filled moment. Rather than some random teenager trying to sneak out, or a teacher trying to defend their students, the odd group was faced with none other than Abigail Michelle Lee, floating right in front of them.

She looked exactly as she had earlier that day, while Uriel held her. Her brown hair was a mess, the already sloppy braid nearly completely out, blood splattered across her torso and face, marring her calm front. She was a vengeful angel if Uriel had ever seen one.

“What’s wrong?” Abby asked the man as he dropped the gun in awe. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” She sniggered, the sound nothing like something the Abby Uriel remembered would make. “Oops. My bad.” She smirked at him. “Dying scrambles your brains, even when some random bastard _doesn’t_ shoot you in the face.”

“Y-You,” he called, scooping the gun up to point it at Bryn, who was just as shocked by Abby’s appearance as Uriel and Daemon. “This is you!”

Bryn held her hands up in a shock-induced, sarcastic gesture. “I don’t mess with ghosts, man,” she said. “Not my division, Sherlock.”

“Focus, Carlton,” Abby called, drawing all eyes back to her. “Then again, that’s your problem, isn’t it?” She floated around Carlton in a circle, spectral hands behind her back as she almost ignored the others. “Lack of focus? I mean, that’s how Sharon ended up dead according to the reports, isn’t it?” Carlton’s face paled and he stiffened as Abby’s words registered. As soon as the shock settled and left, it was replaced with an anger that almost frightened Uriel. “You just couldn’t keep your eyes on the road,” Abby continued, acting as if Carlton wasn’t trying to kill her again with his glare alone.

“My wife—” he growled back, “—Died because of that bitch’s mother—” he pointed a finger at Uriel “—and her friends! Driving around _drunk_ , and then they want to ruin me. Me! _She_ and her friends kill my wife, and _she_ ruins what’s left of _my_ life like the whole thing is my fault!” Uriel recognized the tears in his eyes and, for a single moment, forgot everything he’d done. In that moment, he wasn’t a murderer; he was a sad, broken man with no family.

“Do you think that makes it right?” Abby asked, completely unfazed by his words. “Killing girls because _your_ wife was killed? Because your _unborn daughter_ was killed?” Everything stopped. Everyone stopped. Then, Carlton began to shake, this time from the sobs rolling through his shoulders and down his spine. “She’d be . . . fourteen by now if she’d been born, right?” Abby asked, circling around him. “Just about Uriel’s age. _My_ age.” Abby’s ghost was snarling at him now, her face looking just a little less than human.

“Then again,” Abby started. “What do I matter? There was no bullet made for me. I’m not a target.” Carlton fell to the ground, the gun slipping from his grip as he continued to cry almost hysterically. “I’m just a stupid little girl who got in the way. An _expendable_ little girl who got in the way. That’s all.” Abby looked down at a distraught Carlton, curled into a ball as he sobbed uncontrollably.

“That’s what you told yourself, right? That I was _nothing_. Just a mistake. There was no way anyone would miss little, old me.” Abby laughed, the sound cold and cruel. “Not my _mother_ , who’s got nothing left, or my _friends_ , who you’re going to kill anyways. Not. One. Person.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlton cried, his blunt nails tearing at his skin and shirt as he rocked back and forth, his fragile mind shattered. “I’m so, so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen.” He looked at her with shame and regret draped over his face like a wet comforter. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“What?” Abby asked. “You put your mind to shooting a bunch of teenage girls in the face, but you didn’t think there would be any _casualties_? You didn’t think any of the _thousands_ of students around them would get caught in the crossfire? Did you even _think_ _at all you_ stupid, little—”

“Stop.”

Daemon and Bryn stared at Uriel, who was staring  straight at Carlton, who was staring at Abby. There was a look of pity and . . . neither could figure what else was on Uriel’s face, but it sure wasn’t good. Anger was the closest they could get.

“That’s enough, Alisa,” Uriel called out. “You’ve won. Don’t sully Abby’s name over this thing.” She nodded at Carlton’s shivering figure on the ground, not paying any attention whatsoever to what Uriel was saying. “He’s not worth it.” She looked down the rows of cars, seeing Alisa standing next to one, tears falling down the younger girl’s confused face. “You’re better than this.”

At Uriel’s words, Abby’s “ghost”, who now looked like something out of a Charmed or Supernatural episode, faded back to the Abby all of the girls remembered, smiled at Uriel, and faded away without a word of protest, leaving only a weeping Carlton as the only indication she’d ever been there in the first place.

Carlton, sadly, was completely oblivious to her departure and continued howling his apologies through his gasps for breath.

Alisa, still crying, stumbled over to Uriel, sketchbook clutched tightly to her chest so that no one could see the less-than-pretty drawing that marred the once-pure, white paper. “It was just supposed to be a distraction,” she cried, tripping over nothing and falling to the ground. “She wasn’t supposed to—I didn’t _want_ her to say that.” Alisa shook her head in a mixture of confusion and lamentment. “I didn’t even _know_ that! She wasn’t supposed to say it.”

“I know,” Uriel said, bending down to help her friend up and not saying anything when the attempt proved futile. “But, incase he’s the norm when it comes to intentions,” Uriel nodded to a still, weeping Carlton, “Things aren’t always what they’re ‘supposed’ to be.”

Freeing her friends, she was grateful to see Bryn pull Alisa up, placing her next to Beauty, who began helping her move towards the dorms, Alisa still crying all the way.

Uriel moved to fallow, sure that Carlton was, probably going to be in the same spot in the morning when the new watchman did his rounds, but Daemon stopped her by grabbing her arm. He wasn’t as _visibly_ furious as he had been earlier. His eyes had returned to their original green, and she couldn’t see any fangs. That’s not to say he wasn’t still mad.

“I am so incredibly mad at you,” he said, frowning angrily at her to prove his point. Yep, she called that one. “You can’t just keep me out of a fight.”

“Dae,” Uriel groaned, really not wanting to have this conversation. “You’ve killed enough for me. Let me take some responsibility.”

The hand on her arm squeezed tightly, to the point where Uriel flinched.

Seeing what he’d done, Daemon took two steps back and ran a hand through his hair. “I made a promise,” he said, not elaborating as per usual. “I promised you’d never have blood on your hands.” He looked at the girl in front of him sadly, begging with his eyes for her not to fight him on this. “Don’t make a liar out of me.”

Uriel frowned, her inner feminist becoming annoyed. “I need to take care of myself, Daemon,” she growled, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “You can’t hover over me forever.”

Uriel’s pretty sure she heard him mutter, “Can too,” but she really, _really_ didn’t want to fight with him tonight, so she swallowed her argument.

“Let’s just go to sleep,” she said, her entire form screaming exhaustion and surrender. “We can hash it out later. When you’ve had blood and I’ve had sleep. And chocolate.” She turned towards the dorms, knowing that he would fallow. “This day has just been one really long way of God telling me that I need inordinate amounts of chocolate.”

Sighing, Daemon fallowed her, just as she thought he would, and hopped in front of her, bending down so she could get on his back. “Get on,” he ordered. “You’ll never make it up that damn pipe like you are.”

Not feeling like arguing again (mostly because he was completely right in his statement), Uriel crawled onto his back, not even thinking to spare a glance at the still weeping Carlton behind them.

“Onward my steed!” she called, pointing towards where she assumed her dorm was. “We must be home before the dragon of the West finds us.”

Daemon couldn’t fight the smile on his face at her antics.

Or how fast she fell asleep after that.

Two weeks passed since that day, and, in light of the other occurrences of the day, none of the conversations Uriel had been worried about happened. Alisa, who was out of her funk after three days straight of Teen Wolf, and Bryn, who was sulking over not actually getting to hit Carlton, had almost completely forgotten about Daemon and Uriel’s . . . moment, and Daemon had stopped trying to bring up their argument when Uriel began crying crocodile tears.

Hey, there was very little she was above doing to avoid that particular argument.

Daemon had kept his, and his minions’, ears to the ground to figure out just what had happened. Turned out that Simon Carlton, sad man that he was, had spent his entire life focused on killing Elizabeth and her friends. Especially after he’d found out that it was her who had gotten him fired from his job at the college and made the banks treat him like a leper. Then, according to Carlton, he’d happened upon Uriel’s third birthday (the only one she’d ever had in public, of all the luck) and, realizing that his own daughter’s birthday would have been around the same time, his focus shifted.

“What I don’t get,” Bryn asked, sitting on the roof with the others, a steaming bowl of chicken soup in everyone’s hands. “Is where he got those elements.” She shook her head and slurped some of the broth. “I mean, uranium? How does a man with no job and no chance at getting a loan pay for that?”

“Really good friends,” Daemon answered. “He’s refusing to name names, but some of his former colleagues have been implicated. He pleaded out to protect them.” He sighed, sipping his mug of microwaved blood (which really should have grossed Uriel out more). “Sad this was: the poor guy had no idea what he was going to do if he got caught, or if he wasn’t.” The old vampire shook his head in mercy. “This entire scenario has just been one bad idea after another for him. The whole thing consumed him ’til there was nothing left.”

“It does explain the creepy attention to detail,” Alisa pointed out. “Tabitha was killed on the tennis court, Nina in the Art building, and Abby in the infirmary hallway.” She frowned. “My mom wound up getting the case—she’s really pissed about that—and she said he did it because he and his wife were on their way from the doctor’s office to buy paint for the baby’s nursery when Elizabeth and the others hit them/” Alisa looked at Uriel apologetically. “They crashed next to the tennis courts near Rodger’s Park.”

Uriel nodded silently and frowned. Carlton had an IQ of 180, he’d been on his way to tenure, top of his class and field, so she had no problem believing that he was perfectly capable of planning all of this down to the number of shots he shot out per death, but something was still off, still wrong.

The others let the conversation drift to lighter subjects, topics such as teachers and projects erasing the memories, while Uriel’s mind circled one small detail, one loose end that she just could not tie reasonably. Eventually, Bryn and Alisa began to yawn and waved their good byes to the two, heading in to grab some sleep.

“Alright,” Daemon said, scooting over to sit next to Uriel. “What’s got your mind so occupied you can’t properly appreciate the fact that we won this one?”

There was a long pause before Uriel finally answered him. “Shancoe,” she said finally. “Every other detail, I’ll buy that Carlton did it, but not the Shancoe thing.” Uriel shook her head resolutely. “He didn’t have that kind of pull. Somebody else helped him, and I’m willing to bet that he didn’t even know it.”

Daemon sighed, shoulders slopping as the weight he called Uriel’s life fell on them. “You want me to keep digging, don’t you?” he asked before looking at her carefully. “You might not like what I find. You rarely do.”

Uriel thought it over, the options rolling around in her mind like marbles in her hand. “Do it,” she ordered. “I’m not going to risk getting caught in some warped Xanatos Gambit.” She looked behind her to see her friends curled up in their beds, Bryn cuddled into a stuffed boxer named Freeda and Alisa flopped spread eagle, snoring lightly. Innocent. Vulnerable. “I’m not risking them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the introduction of the main issue: Who's paying Carlton? Cause, let's face it, I read too many manga and watch too many anime not to make this all into one giant plan by some nut job.


	13. Epilogue: From The Desk of An Unnamed Narrator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOT YA! Heh, bet you never guessed this whole thing was being narrated, right? Well, it is. The entire series is being written from the point of view of someone who just wants to tell Uriel's story.

* * *

 

 

_**Dearest Reader,** _

_**Well, I suppose this is as good a place to stop as any. After all, I can’t very well tell the entire story in one go. Where’s the fun in that?** _

_**And oh, what a magnificent story it is, what with kings, and spells, and that little—** _

_**Oops. Almost gave some of the best parts away. Ah, the curse of telling this story. You forget not to tell the best parts. And the main character MIGHT just gouge your eyes out if they find out you’ve been writing all this down.** _

_**And, with that, it’s probably best I leave. My old age is certainly getting the best of me. I used to be so good at keeping secrets. After all, I’ve been in charge of these secrets this long.** _

__

_**Sincerely,** _

**_Someone Smart Enough Not to Give Their Name_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this marks the actual end of this book. The very end. Now, I'm warning you guys: I will not update this regularly. When I DO post the next book, I'll be posting the ENTIRE book. The whole thing. So don't hate me, kay?


	14. Acknowledgements

Wow. It’s actually finished. To be completely honest, I never thought it was going to. This was written during three very different years, and, if you’ve had the misfortune to read some of the earliest versions of this, then you’d agree that it has _certainly_ come a long way.

In terms of thanks, it goes so many different ways. To the original Bryn, Alisa, and Danica, who helped with editing and idea bouncing, giving me a thicker skin, and making me food respectively. While my opinions of one of you may have changed drastically recently, the memory of our friendship is still something that I will look back on fondly. While I may not speak to one of you as much as I used to, know that I will always be your friend. We’ve been through thick and thin, and you mean a lot to me. I promise I’ll stay in touch more. And while one of you is leaving my sight for what seems, to my teenage brain like forever, I know that it isn’t. You’re the sister I never had, my guardian, the light at the end of all those dark, scary tunnels I had to walk through to get where I am today. You will always have place in my life, no matter how many cities are between us. To my amazing warrior boyfriend, who has encouraged me in everything, even when I could tell he didn’t understand why or what it meant to me. I’m lucky to have you in my life. No matter how many times you abuse the power of your reflexes to poke and prod me. To my mom, who worked harder than anyone to cultivate my possibly insane imagination, no matter how worrisome I’m sure it was at some points. Most people don’t volunteer to be parents, but you _asked_ to raise a child, on your own, and you did it so well. Know that you are the most important person in my life and, while I may not always say it, I do love you. To my Aunt and Uncle, who still make the best burgers and eggs this side of the sun. Auntie, you were always there when I needed you with good advice and a smile. I may not have always taken your advice, but know that I do appreciate it and everything else you do for me. To my grandmother, who took care of me in the years when Mom was busy and I couldn’t do it myself. I’m as self-sufficient today in part because of you. You helped raise me to be the almost woman I am today, and I couldn’t have asked for a better Grandmother. That, and your hugs are still made out of sunshine, happiness and cinnamon. To every one of my cousins, who made it so that siblings were completely unnecessary. You guys gave me the fun that I never would have gotten otherwise. When I had no friends, you reminded me that I would always have my family. And to every English teacher who ever read through my essays (though I feel an apology for my hand writing is also in order). With few exceptions, you’ve all encouraged me and supported my imagination. I owe this to you all as much as I owe it to every person above.


End file.
